To Seek A Love: Book 2
by Masked Man 2
Summary: "Hesitant, Emilia reached up to stroke the brilliant scarlet rose in her hair, wincing slightly as one finger got caught on a sharp thorn. The blood, hidden in the flower's velvet petals, welled up in a thin red line as she placed her finger delicately in her mouth. There is danger hidden in beauty, she though, and thorns sharp and cutting ensconced in flowers of love."
1. Her Thoughts Ambled Leisurely About

The sun already hung rather high in his heavenly domain **,** and still Desdemona did not know where Emilia should be. Faith, such tardiness did not seem meet to her character-Emilia was both punctual and practical. Surely there was some matter, out of her control, that deterred her; it could not be any fault of her own.

What a blessed woman Emilia was. Desdemona liked her well, and she believed that they had become good friends, even after having spent little more than a few days together. At first, Emilia had appeared slightly stiff, not lending any more intimacy than she had felt necessary, but the ties between them had since softened, like clay hearts worked by warm hands-that was how Desdemona pictured it in her mind's eye. In faith, her heart flowed with love when the older woman's pert smile was coaxed to the rosy lips.

Truly, Desdemona felt sympathy for Emilia at times, for dear Emilia often seemed to lack sanguinity. Ay, indeed, such was her natural humor, but Desdemona had occasionally wondered if not Emilia's husband were at some blame for it. An honest man he was, good Iago, but honesty did not directly import kindness, and frequently did Emilia seem to be at the blunt end of her husband's insensitivity.

Still, Emilia's marriage was no personal business of Desdemona's. Desdemona bowed her head in apology for having intruded so, even if in her own head.

She sat demurely within the chambers she shared with her husband (O, how she loved the fact, that she could now call Othello _husband_ ), absently embroidering embellishments upon a handkerchief with nimble, graceful fingers, whilst her thoughts ambled leisurely about.


	2. A Strange Morning

Emilia paused briefly outside theMoor's chambers to straighten her bodice and sorts, which had been slightly skewed in her haste. She could only hope that Desdemona did not worry too much over her whereabouts...but, in faith, she had a wondrous excuse for her tardiness.

 _Desdemona will not believe it, should I tell her_ , she mused, but she abruptly perished the thought. What had transpired betwixt her husband and herself, that past night and this morning, was naught that any other needed to know; forsooth, she could hardly believe those events herself. So she resolved to keep silent, and if Desdemona observed a bit of extra levity in her countenance, well. She could make of that what she would.

That thought firm, she opened the door quietly, taking a moment to admire the sheer _size_ of the chamber; it was a veritable palace compared to her own! ...But it would not do to covet what she could not have. Iago had taught her that, if nothing else.

"Good morrow, my lady," she said, smiling softly at the girl, who sat demurely upon her bed, embroidering a handkerchief. _'Tis passing strange, that handkerchiefs suddenly seem to have such a great place in my life..._ "I do apologize for my tardiness. It has been a...strange morning, to say the least."


	3. Did Not This Woman Have News To Tell?

The sight of Emilia brought forth a dimpled smile from Desdemona, who stood up, setting aside her embroidery. She stepped forward to meet Emilia and, looking up at her, allowed the smile to beam brightly upon the one who had elicited it.

"Good morrow, sweet Emilia! Your being late is no matter, I assure you; do not worry yourself upon it. In troth, how could you be late, when I did not bid you arrive at any particular hour? Perhaps you are the one at perfect time, and I simply early." The bright eyes sparkled, but soon the fair brow furrowed mildly in affectionate concern and the hands clasped themselves earnestly. "But I prithee, Emilia, is all well, that this morning has been so strange to you?"

It was curious, to be sure; Desdemona thought she saw weariness in Emilia's face, yet her cheeks were tinged with touches of a handsome, glowing joy. The lively eyes appeared to share this sentiment as well. Did not this woman have news to tell? Truly, it appeared so. Desdemona tried not to show her mild curiosity in her conduct, lest it be some splendid secret that was not hers to know.


	4. Not For Her Life

Emilia could not keep a small, sparkling laugh from bubbling out of her, and she took her young lady's soft hands with a grin.

"All is well, Desdemona; I assure you. I pray thee, do not spare your energy in worry at my expense! As to my being late," she added, a mischievous note sliding into her low, warm voice. "Is it so difficult to believe that I feel a sort of obligation to leave you cloistered so in your chamber for no longer than a few hours? I know, Desdemona, how restless you would become if I should."

Shaking her head slightly in amused self-reproach, Emilia let go of Desdemona's hands in recognition of the concern that still disfigured the girl's fair face. She was much more perceptive than she seemed: witty and discerning and astonishingly coy at times. Emilia hated that she worried her...but there would be no way to ease her fears without revealing her secret...and that was one confidence she would not betray for her life.


	5. Lightheartedness In The Air

The troubled expression on Desdemona's countenance faded away as Emilia gave her reassurance, though it still lingered somewhere within the lovely eyes.

"Restless, indeed..." she said with a small smile, as if musing. "Did you think me restless, Emilia?" She crossed the room halfway to reclaim her seat on the bed, taking up the embroidery once more in reenactment and assuming an aloof expression. "Why, I do think that I conducted myself in subdued manner brilliantly. It was indeed something to be well-proud of. And restless, say you? Perhaps you think me a child, mother Emilia." Desdemona laughed mirthfully, though gracefully.

She was not always so whimsical, but at present she felt a lightheartedness in the air. Gentle Emilia, sweet Emilia, kind Emilia! Desdemona had been blessed with no such female companions as cousins, sisters or mother, and the maids of her father's house had not been much disposed to intimate friendship, but here was Emilia come, and good Emilia took place of them all. Even her simply being there filled Desdemona's heart with love, as well as a gaiety that did not often present itself in her.


	6. Mother Emilia

Desdemona's gaiety stirred the hidden child within Emilia's own soul, as it was often wont to do, and she found herself rolling her eyes fondly, laughing at her lady's remark.

"Mother Emilia!" she exclaimed, pretending offense. "Why, surely you jest! I should think that I am none such!"

Truly, though, seeing the girl so light of heart pleased the gentle, maternal side of her that longed to care for those she loved. Desdemona was not always thus...in faith, she was, more often than not, subject to long periods of quiescent and somber reflection. Such was her nature, Emilia knew, but she could only hope that there were no hidden stresses or tribulations in her lady's life that she had seen fit to hide (though that in itself was doubtful; Desdemona was nothing if not open). After all, both she herself and her stoic husband were given to like musings, and she knew only too well the motives behind _those..._

 _O, fie, enough of such grave thoughts!_ she chided herself. Drawing in a fortifying breath, she cocked her head slightly as she regarded Desdemona with a teasing smile.

"Truly, I must be quite profound, that you should stare at me so," she chaffed. "Come, lady, are we to remain here and embroider handkerchiefs all day? Or have you some mischief planned, as you usually do?"


	7. My Chief Diversions

The cheerful timbres in her voice became Emilia well, Desdemona thought. Surely it could not have been any ill circumstance that had made the morning strange to her; if such was the case it would be apparent in her manner. Emilia's gladness was in earnest, Desdemona was sure; certainly not the fiercest liar in the world could imitate such a sweet laugh and not have more than a little of his heart in it! She bid her worries farewell, both confident and thankful that no poor fortunes had befallen her friend.

"'Mischief', speak you," repeated Desdemona good-naturedly, rising once more from her place, setting the embroidery on a table. "If I think you a mother, do you think me an imp?" She beamed as she took Emilia's hand and began to walk with her. "Kerchief, mischief-think you these my chief diversions? Chiefly, at this moment, I should like to go out of doors, and peradventure the mischief should follow, though the kerchief shall stay within- _this_ kerchief, however, shall come withal," she said cleverly as she gestured toward her personal handkerchief- _the_ handkerchief, indeed; it deserved the distinction, being her husband's first gift to her and a lovely trinket besides.

Desdemona laughed, first with delight at her quip, and then with a mild bashfulness. "Heaven save me; I begin to sound like that pitiful Clown who does so often haunt the courtyard with his poor wit."


	8. From Her Lady's Own Lips

Desdemona laughed freely and bashfully as she took Emilia by the hand to the courtyard, and the other woman felt a pang of relief in seeing the worry in the girl's eyes dissipate, to be replaced by self-deprecating mirth. Truly, her lady was too young and fair for any sorrow to mar her features...

"That clown!" she exclaimed, shaking off her thoughts to hear her lady's last words. "In faith, I think the poor fool might love you, as that Venetian merchant Roderigo once did, else he would not haunt you so! ...Or perhaps he merely enjoys making sport of all and sundry with his weak quillets."

As though the scene were drawn by the hand of Fate itself, that same man was sitting atop on far wall, juggling idly as he whistled an off-key tune. Emilia could only hope that he would not solicit them.

"A strange fool," she murmured. "But, I pray you, why have you brought your husband's token out of doors with you? Do you not fear dirtying it?" Of course, Emilia knew well why Desdemona carried the handkerchief everywhere she went; she loved it well, and cherished it, for it was her first remembrance from her dark love...but she preferred to hear those words from her lady's own lips.


	9. Twas Not My Place

"O, _Roderigo_ ," Desdemona sighed, with pity in her voice. "I never knew the man, though I did often hear my father complain of him. He was but one in a rather great many suitors who did ask for my hand, but did not have my heart in the matter..." Her fair cheeks dimpled with an uncertain smile. "Faith...I do think Roderigo was the one who endeavored to stand below my window and serenade me. Poor soul... It dislikes me that I had no choice but to break his heart thus."

Desdemona withdrew the handkerchief from her skirts and looked at it fondly as Emilia mentioned the token. "Once more, you think me a child, dear Emilia," she said mildly. "Think you I will dirty what is such potent remembrance of the wonderful man whom I do love? Even the very feel of it brings the visage of my lord to mind. 'Tis very much a pity that lovers cannot remain side by side through the entire day, but with this blessed handkerchief? Ay, with this I have an approximation." Her cheeks flushed with a rosy glow as she gazed at it. What warmth did fill her heart at this moment, coursing through her veins with an earnest tenderness...!

"Surely, you have been in love before, Emilia?" Desdemona asked suddenly, turning to look at her, and then finding the heedless question indelicate, for it insinuated with furtive cruelty that the woman did not love her husband. "Forgive me," she mended hurriedly. "I know you are married-you must pardon me, patient Emilia-I asked the question without thought. 'Twas not my place."


	10. A Wondrous Pitiful Love

"No, I protest," Emilia countered gently, though she recognized Desdemona's insinuation for what it was, and chafed at it but slightly. "As a friend...and I hope, lady, that you consider yourself such, as I do...as a friend, it was absolutely your place to ask, and be curious."

She trailed off for a moment then, wondering how best to answer such a grave inquiry. How could she explain her strange maelstrom of emotions and sentiments to Desdemona, whose love for her lord the Moor was so strong, so passionate and pure and _present_? How could she explain that bitterness, resentment, fear, and desire for what could not be were tempered by tender, ardent devotion and understanding fringing upon kinship? How could she explain the mad union of minds like and diametric that was her marriage? In faith, to tell such things seemed nearly impossible...

With a slight sigh, she glanced back to Desdemona, unable to suppress a smile at the sight of her young lady fondling her handkerchief. "Truly, I have loved," she replied, knowing as she spoke that what she said was the whole, honest truth, and relishing the fact. "Mayhap it was not as you now feel it, yearning always to be in your beloved's presence and cherishing his tokens like gifts from God-though you must not think I hold either envy or disapproval-but it is love nonetheless, a wondrous pitiful love, and I, now, am quite content with that."


	11. Blossom In The Spring

**AN: Hey, all! I haven't updated in awhile, I know; the end of the semester/year kicked my ass. I'm officially on summer vacation, though, so hopefully I'll be able to update more regularly. Enjoy!**

Desdemona recovered her relaxed tone with Emilia's reassurance, but she remained slightly hesitant as she spoke her reply. Certainly Emilia had a right to take offense from such questions-Desdemona knew that she herself would not be able to help feeling dismayed if someone implied that her love for Othello was ill-founded.

"You say that you 'have loved', as if it were a thing of the past. Is it so?" Desdemona reached elegantly down to pluck a blooming, vermilion rose from the bush on which it grew, turning it in her fingers to admire it, and then looking once more toward Emilia. "Do you think love to be something that fades with time, losing its luster and withering away into nothing, like a blossom in the spring?" She reached up to tuck the rose carefully into Emilia's dark curls. "Something that becomes a couple well in the beginning, but will, in the ultimate, shrivel up and thrive no more?"

She looked into Emilia's face with a pleasant expectancy, somewhat expecting to hear a 'No, my lady' or a 'You mistake me, my lady', for surely no one could believe so falsely. "Perhaps that is the way with those romantic passions that are not the direct sustenance for love, passions as fickle as they are fierce...but love _itself_? What say you, Emilia?"


	12. Rose

Hesitant, Emilia reached up to stroke the brilliant scarlet rose in her hair, wincing slightly as one finger got caught on a sharp thorn. The blood, hidden in the flower's velvet petals, welled up in a thin red line as she placed her finger delicately in her mouth to quell the faint flow of that red tide. _There is danger hidden in beauty_ , she thought suddenly, incongruously, _and thorns sharp and cutting ensconced in flowers of love_.

"Love," she murmured, echoing her musings almost unconsciously. "Talk you of true love, my lady? Love that transcends even the nights and depths of passion?"

Did such a love exist? Was Desdemona in the right; was love something that faded with time, dying as the spring of new romance gave way to cold, stark winter? Did it fade as passion faded, birthing a monster in a union, a monster of prosaic, heartless obligation? Or did it remain, past all else, as something truly eternal?

Only yesterday, Emilia would have scoffed at the latter thought, and would have berated herself as a fanciful fool should it have crossed her mind...for what had she but her own marriage, fraught with tension and pain, to compare any notion of love to? In that union passion was surely lacking, and love bereft in consequence...

...But now, _now_...how could she think that now? How could she, after what had transpired that very morning? If those events were not portents of love and passion and devotion renewed, let Heaven and Hell strike her blind...!

"Passion," she said, decisively, taking Desdemona's soft white hands in earnest resolve, "is a fickle thing, and can ebb and flow and wane and wax with time, unbidden and unchallenged. But love...true love, Desdemona, though we may not see it, and haply may forget it...true love is eternal."


	13. There's Music In The Web Of It

The conviction with which Emilia spoke brought a glow to Desdemona's features as she smiled at the words. "I do well believe it, Emilia, and knowing that you believe it too, when you have looked upon the world for a longer time than I-it bolsters my belief." She gave Emilia's slender fingers a light squeeze, feeling more at ease with the subject.

Emilia did say that true love was eternal, and she said it with brilliant faith. Yet, did it not fail to explain the way in which she was treated by her husband, Iago? Desdemona thought of the times she had witnessed in which Iago, usually seeming rather amiable and undoubtedly a good man, subtly chided sweet Emilia for a number of trivial reasons: being too quick to speak, being too slow to wit; being too sharp in wit, being too soft in emotion.

Desdemona could not imagine that _her_ husband, her lord, valiant, noble Othello, would ever subject _his_ wife to these petty criticisms. Perhaps the rebukes were made in jest...though Iago seemed serious enough when he spoke them, and Emilia silently indignant enough when receiving them. But did not Emilia say she was content in her love? Perhaps the reprimands were made in some facet of affection unknown to Desdemona, though on the surface they did not seem kind. Desdemona could not expect every woman's marriage to be just as her own. Indeed, matters of love were difficult to understand…

"Last night," Desdemona said suddenly, remembering something she had been meaning to relate, "as my lord and I prepared for bed, we began to hear a melody being played from out of door… It was lovely-perhaps a little sad, but sweet in its sadness. We knew not from whence it came, though it was likely some lonely and sleepless musician who still wandered by moonlight. In any respect, my lord did turn to me, and forthwith he took my hands in his own, and raised them so-" Desdemona lithely lifted Emilia's hands as if to lead her in dance, "-and then he began us to step in cadence to the music." She smiled faintly in remembrance of the happening, and her eyes sparkled, betraying the fact that she had indeed been eager to tell Emilia the tale since its very occurrence.

"Faith, 'twas a melancholy song, Emilia, but very beautiful, and I think there must have been some enchantment in the moment. When the song had finished, he kissed me and did tell me that he thought the music had not half the melody of my voice, nor a quarter of the beauty of my heart." Desdemona relayed the compliment with modesty, though the way that the praise made her feel was evident on her countenance.


	14. Sentiments Of Injustice

Desdemona's clear, bright eyes sparkled with modest joy as she told her tale, betraying the eagerness with which she had been harboring this news. Laughing slightly, Emilia spun the younger woman teasingly, dancing with her as her lord had apparently done last night.

"Well!" she exclaimed, her tone warm and playful. "Truly, you could not have picked a more romantic and chivalrous man as your husband, lady. To pay you such compliments..." A slight sting of envy, useless now but felt nonetheless, wormed its insidious way through Emilia's gut, but she impatiently pushed aside the feeling in shame. "Perhaps you are right; certainly that sounds as enchanting as any ballad."

To be sure, Emilia was delighted with her lady's news...but though she could subdue stirrings of jealousy easily enough, sentiments of injustice were much more difficult to suppress. And indeed, Emilia could not help but feel slighted by whatever fate had blessed and cursed her with. How was it just that last night, Desdemona and Othello had shared such magical intimacy, while Emilia had been sorely beaten? Of course, she had forgiven the dark deed, but...she could not stop her mind from dwelling on that strange, bitter irony.

O, God, she could sense Desdemona's eyes on her now; the young lady's gentle orbs were fixed in their discerning scrutiny, and Emilia knew that she found her earlier remarks suspect. Desdemona no doubt felt some confusion over her gaiety, when she knew how Emilia had been mistreated in the near past...but she could not know of all that had changed, in such little time...


	15. Unfriendly Blemishes

"Enchanting…" repeated Desdemona with a small sigh. "Why, but that does describe him perfectly; I do believe it. My heart's subdued even to the very quality of my lord…" She paused in her reverie to smile graciously. "I say, Emilia, certainly you dance well. Perhaps you ought to don doublet and hose and teach young men to woo. Or haply no: if you were to dance with them, they might fall in love with _you_." Desdemona laughed facetiously.

Looking upon Emilia's visage, Desdemona thought she began to notice something strange… Barely perceptible, true, but there were faint discolorations on either side of Emilia's face that almost illusioned her cheeks to look slightly hollowed, rather than supple. Haply Emilia had not been getting enough sleep? In truth, though she was companionable at present, she did appear as though she had not had much rest... That could possibly serve as explanation for her early absence that morning.

"Do mine eyes deceive, Emilia, or do I spy unfriendly blemishes upon your cheeks?" Desdemona said at last, looking upon the woman kindly. "Are you well?" She felt some measure of regret, that she might have been the one who had beckoned Emilia away from much-needed repose.


	16. Nightmares And Strange Visions

Emilia's bubble of laughter, that had sprung forth at the ridiculous image of herself donning doublet and hose and teaching lustful, eager young men to dance, died abruptly as Desdemona's concerned inquiry met her ears. Almost unconsciously, she put a hand to her cheek, feeling the still-tender skin of the faintly visible bruises. That Desdemona had seen them...in faith, she did not seem to guess what they were, but should her sharp mind draw some deleterious conclusion, as Cassio's had...Emilia shuddered to think of the consequences.

Her lady had seen her weariness, too. Emilia knew that her eyes, much like her cheeks, were shadowed, but even relating _that_ truth- that her sleep had been fitful, fraught with nightmares and strange visions- would not be so well. Desdemona would surely ask the cause...and what could Emilia say then?

O, how she detested lying...but it had to be done. "I am well," she replied, trying for a reassuring smile. "And I beg you, do not think yourself at fault, for calling me away from my respite." That, at least, was true enough, and Emilia could read that guilt in Desdemona's anxious, limpid eyes easily. "In faith, it was not so restful a night, but...through fault of no one. Nightmares, my lady. Nothing more."


	17. Burdensome, I Should Think

Desdemona sighed piteously. "O, poor, sweet Emilia… I am sorry for it. Would you, perhaps, like to relate those unhappy dreams to me…? I know that such things can be easier to bear, when there are two pairs of shoulders doing the bearing."

"In faith, you are mistaken, my lady," a voice cut in from behind them, revealing the Clown, who seemed to have abandoned both his perch and his juggling, and somehow crept up behind them without their noticing. "Women do bear with their _stomachs_ and all within, not with their shoulders and all withal." He gestured rotundly over his abdomen, coarsely assuming the stance and gait of a woman with child. "And I do believe that there is only _one_ woman in the bearing, not two or four or twelve or however. Or else, we might question that mothers are indeed rightful mothers, as some do question that fathers are indeed rightful fathers." He nodded jauntily, as if to show that he agreed with himself, seeing as neither of his audience reacted immediately.

The vulgar interruption elicited a heavy exhalation from Desdemona. "Fie upon you; you are not well-met," she reproached mildly. "The circumstance did not necessitate such interference...we were discussing something a little burdensome."

"Burdensome, I should think," returned the Clown, feigning a sincere expression, "if you speak of bearing. Such burdens as those that a woman bears are no longer discretionary once borne unto her. And once the burden is born _from_ her, she must bear it again on her hip." He postured himself as though he carried a young child at his side, pulling at his hair and pantomiming shrill, shrewish shrieks at some invisible husband of his imagining.

"Does this buffoon not slander us, Emilia?" Desdemona asked, raising her delicate eyebrows and turning to her.


	18. An Arrival Most Fortuitous

At that moment, Emilia could truly have kissed the Clown. O, Fate and Fortune did smile upon her this day, that the fool had arrived at so opportune a time! His bawdy remarks had haply distracted Desdemona's attention from her concern over Emilia's state of being, and she allowed herself to breathe out a sigh of relief, as the man jauntily made his vulgar quips.

"Truly, I think he does slander us, and all womankind in the doing," she replied, fixing the Clown with an eye teasingly reproachful, even as she thanked him inwardly with all her heart. "If, sirrah, you imagine all women to be screeching, shrewish things, made only to bear children and harp at husbands, then I am afraid I must wonder what types of women you have known...and in faith, the image my mind conjures speaks none too highly of you."

"Fore God!" the Clown burst out, placing a fleshy, calloused hand upon his breast in exaggerated affront. "Zounds, my lady, how you wound me! In _faith_ , the only woman of the sort that I have known was my own dear mother; she now is undone, for shame!"

"Or done, as it were," Emilia quipped, making Desdemona's eyes grow wide, and making the Clown throw back his head in laughter.

"Your wit is truly cutting, my lady!" he exclaimed, shaking his head and making his thick curls spring about. "Mine own sword quivers at it!"

"Your own sword, knave, quivers at any lady it passes that is quick with her tongue," she returned, reveling in the gratification this lewd battle of wits brought, as well as the relief of Desdemona's diverted attention. Truly, the Clown's arrival had been most fortuitous indeed.


	19. Swordplay

"Speak you of swords, my lady?" the Clown answered gleefully, amid bursts of laughter. "I suppose you must be a studier of sabers, a connoisseur of cutlasses, perhaps a glutton for glaives, that you give yourself allowance to judge _my_ sword. Why, does your husband know of this swordsmanship? Or haply, he knows it better than anyone else, finding but two more blades upon his head." He nimbly placed his hands on either side of his face, forming horns with his index fingers.

Desdemona flushed in mortification at the obscene implications made by both Emilia and the Clown, and without a word she quietly scurried off in escape of the bawdy battle of wits.

"Pity, we have frightened her away," the Clown chided Emilia, wagging a finger at her. "Perhaps she could not bear this talking of swords between you and I… And here do we come full circle, for is it not this sword we speak of that brings women to bear?" He bowed extravagantly and took Emilia's hand, kissing it primly. "And presently, I feel, we must part… You ought to follow after the gentle lady, and I ought to resume my humble pestering of others. I thank you, mistress, for engaging me in this wordplay. Mayhap, on some furtive, balmy night, you may engage me instead in swordplay?" He winked cheekily up at her.


	20. Harmless Fun

"Fie upon you, knave!" Emilia cried, rapping the Clown smartly upside the head with the hand he had just kissed. "Seek your swordplay elsewhere, for I'll not humor you in that way. Cudgel play, perhaps, to temper your sword and beat the lust flat out of it!" Despite the offense in her tone, however, she could not keep the mirth from sparkling in her eyes, and the Clown laughed loudly as he snuck her hand to his lips for one last kiss before stepping gaily back, tipping his large hat to her as he did.

"There is no debauching you, I see," he said, lively even in his dismissal. "Nor will you make your husband a cuckold; I admire that, you know, that loyalty! Nevertheless, I will leave my scabbard bare for you always, my lady." And with another downward snap of his hat, the Clown turned and walked away, whistling jauntily as he went.

Emilia watched him go, smiling slightly as her gratitude went unexpressed. Still, the memory of Desdemona, hurrying away from the lewd contest in chaste horror, dimmed her elation soundly, forcing her to walk quickly in the direction her lady had gone, hoping she had not offended her sensibilities too grievously.

"Desdemona?" she called softly, spying the mortified figure seated nervously upon the courtyard's far wall. "My lady, I must beg your forgiveness; it was never my intention to discomfit you so. In faith, I was only having a bit of sport...harmless fun, you understand? I meant nothing by it. Slanderer though that fool is, he makes for an amusing diversion, nonetheless. I hope you will forgive what was spoken."


	21. Undeserved Defamation

In troth, the fair lady still blushed and hid her face in embarrassment, peeking at Emilia through her fingers. Though she did not render her entire countenance visible, it was clear how much Emilia's description of the exchange surprised her. "Indeed, Emilia… How could you possibly derive sport from such profane discourse? Harmless as the fool's intentions were, did he not abuse you? Slanderer indeed! He did imply, with rude gesture in accompaniment, that you had made your husband a...!"

She stopped mid-sentence, unable to speak the tasteless word. "...Th-that you had misused him," she finished meekly, reddening anew. "Did you not balk at that? 'Twas a most undeserved defamation! That you should partake in such crude banter...and for fun! I wonder at it." She sighed, and retrieving the beloved handkerchief, patted at her forehead and cheeks. "I blush for you, Emilia, seeing as you do not blush for yourself. Mercy…!"


	22. Entertain His Fancy In Hell

Emilia sighed slightly as Desdemona wiped the beloved handkerchief delicately over her furiously blushing face, and settled herself upon the wall beside the girl, determined to clear her name, which seemed to Desdemona to be sullied by her banter.

"I do not blush," she began, resting a reassuring hand atop Desdemona's knee, "because I know the Clown's words not to be true. To be sure, he called me loose, and in consequence did defame both myself and my husband, but I know, better than anyone, that I am, if not chaste, then at least faithful. In faith, I would not even dream of doing such a deed with any man but Iago! I am not so base as that!"

She spoke true, no matter what passing fancies she may have harbored for any other man in the past. They had all been merely that; her devotion to her mad union was one virtue she could boast of unerringly, for it was steadfast, even in the face of dire misfortune.

Thinking thus, Emilia set her jaw and looked Desdemona right in the eye, unashamed of admitting to her own admirable faith. "I laugh at his words," she said quietly, meaning every word wholeheartedly, "for I know that they are, and will never be, true. Any man who thinks they might come to pass can entertain his fancy in Hell before soliciting my companionship."


	23. Constant

Emilia's words and the resolute tone in which she spoke them allowed Desdemona to at least understand the other woman's point of view. "So you do not mind the slander, because you know it is not true? I suppose there is some measure of merit in that… Though how much there is, I cannot say." She laid her handkerchief out on her lap and smoothed it out delicately. "If I were ever accused of forgetting my marriage to Othello...I do not know that I would be able to brush it away as easily you do-even if the accusation should come from a Clown and I should know it to be false." She smiled shyly up at Emilia, letting her know that she did not hold her in any low regard, though she could not deny that she disagreed with her friend on some of the points discussed. She decided to change the subject, though; gazing at the handkerchief, she could not sway her mind from the common theme of love and marriage.

"Tell me, gentle Emilia, you have been married for a long time, have you not? Have you and Iago always acted toward each other as you do presently, or has anything changed with the years?" Desdemona asked the question without looking up from the handkerchief, as if seeing through the napkin into the realm of the future, hoping to visualize how the threads of time might weave the fabric of her life with Othello. When she thought of it, she imagined that their relationship stayed fairly constant...the two of them dancing alone by moonlight to unknown songs, her running to him to kiss him and give him sweet embrace… She would stand by his side always and perform all that was her duty to him, and he would protect her and assure her that she never had a thing to fear. That was what she imagined… But though she was nearly sure it could not be other than so, still she did not know for certain.


	24. A Union Of Minds

Emilia could see the uncertainty in Desdemona's eyes as she spoke, and knew, as the young girl looked irresolutely down at her handkerchief, that she asked for solace, reassurance of the unchanging nature of love and marriage and passion...and what could Emilia tell her? How could she explain to innocent, infatuated Desdemona that love in marriage was a fickle thing, inconstant as the moon, with tides of passion ebbing and flowing uncontrolled? How could she crush her lady's spirit so, in revealing that the deep bonds of matrimony so often grew stale with time, when Desdemona believed that the tenor of her union, with its moonlit romance and wild, passionate abandon, would never change or falter? How? _How_?

Emilia sighed once more, wearily, staring down at Desdemona's handkerchief, white and pure and delicately spotted with strawberries, ripe symbols of love, as though it held all the answers, and could give her courage to speak the uneasy words.

"That is a grave question, my lady," she said, knowing that she stalled, and hating that she did. "My marriage...it has been a strange one; not much like your own, I warrant." Pausing again, Emilia suddenly thought that there was no point in hiding anything from her dear lady and friend, and resolved, no matter the repercussions, to speak true...as true as she could, in any case.

"Mine was not a union of secret romances and passion," she explained, smiling slightly, a bit self-deprecating, as she did. "I would call it union of minds... Though often I resented that I was bereft of that passion and wild love that so many others I knew called their own, I knew that my husband's nature was not one disposed to engage in such pleasures, and mine was not overly hurt by receiving none...those resentments were fleeting, inconsequential. Even if we do not share experiences as those, we have both been faithful all these years...I remain devoted, as it were. We have had...conflicts, many conflicts, and altercations and periods of discontent, but..." She trailed off then, feeling once again the dizzyingly complex emotions of that morning: that strange mixture of fear, exultation, dark anxiety, and love, that Iago had wrought in her. If nothing else, he made her feel. That had to count for something.

"We will remain by each others' sides," she finished, knowing in her heart that that declaration was wholly true. "No matter what happens...I only pray that you and Othello will prove so steadfast, for all I know that your mutual love runs too deep to sever without pain of death."


	25. Neither Lace Nor Strawberries

The way that Emilia described her marriage to Iago, it painted a picture of the two as partners, allies; a pair that could work well together, but were not explicitly in love. She claimed she was happy, and Desdemona did not doubt the woman even for a second, but to have that sort of relationship with one's husband, more businesslike than anything and absent of affection…? Truly, it sounded somewhat dismal, and Desdemona wondered that Emilia could truly be happy, when Iago, honest and good as he was, seemed rather stoic toward her. Desdemona knew Emilia well, and she knew that though Emilia spoke kind words of her husband, she sounded wistful... But Desdemona would not tell her so. It was certainly not her place to voice her opinions of others' marriages.

"I thank you for your benevolent wishes, Emilia," Desdemona smiled gratefully. "And it is kind of you to share with me your own experience... In faith, you are a noble woman-but there was never any doubt in my mind beforehand." She continued to run her fingers gently over her handkerchief, delicately fingering the laced edges and stroking the embroidered patches of rosy strawberries with as much love as she might caress the one who gave her the gift.

Emilia's own handkerchief was, at present, clean, white, and free of dirt and stain. But still, it was not edged in fine lace or speckled with strawberries as Desdemona's was.


	26. An Apt Juxtaposition

Desdemona, she could see, doubted her words...but Emilia could not blame her. After all, she had not borne witness to what had transpired that morning, had not seen how hardship and pain had coupled to create some new, fledgling love, firm in its commitment and raw in its lunacy of emotion. Desdemona had only ever seen Emilia as resigned, wistful, longing for what she could not have, and Iago as stoic, cold, and distant, shielding his heart behind bars of stone and acting at the behest of a ruthless, touched other self...though there was no way Desdemona could have known that, and Emilia felt vaguely privileged that she herself did.

Desdemona's words, though, once spoken, did not reflect the doubts and uncertainties that Emilia could see in her crystalline eyes. Her thanks were modest, bashful, and her description of Emilia as a noble woman touched her heart, though she knew the words to be fancy.

"A noble woman, indeed," she murmured, her full lips twitching into a self-deprecating smile. "In heart, perhaps...though you know that I am not always such; you yourself have seen that I possess a seamy side withal."

Her words, she realized once they had been spoken, were somewhat lost on Desdemona, who was staring once again at her beautiful handkerchief...and at Emilia's, which was visible in her hand. The contrast between them was great: one delicately ornamented, lavishly woven, seemingly magical in its bright silk, lace, and plump strawberries, the other plain and unadorned, of a simpler, coarser weave, recently cleaned of stain and struggling to remain without. It was, Emilia thought, an apt juxtaposition.


	27. Hand In Hand

"Nevertheless, sweet Emilia, I hold you in high regard," Desdemona told her genuinely, placing her delicate hand over Emilia's rougher one and drawing her attention away from both handkerchiefs. "You are a wonderful heart, and I may never be able to recompense the heavens for supplying me with you." Desdemona smiled and gave her friend a sisterly kiss on the cheek.

Then she put her kerchief away, the vivid strawberries slipping from view, and still holding Emilia's hand, stood to her feet. "Come, let us walk. I wish to enjoy what wondrous riches this beautiful morning bestows upon us… Perhaps at some point in the journey, we will catch glimpse of my lord and greet him." A blithe laugh brightened Desdemona's face prettily, and the two of them went off, hand in hand.


	28. Things Were Better Now

"There is no need for recompense," Emilia replied, smiling as Desdemona placed an affectionate kiss on her cheek. "I serve you, my lady, because it pleases me to do so, and I thank you kindly for your compliments."

No matter that she had been starved of them of late, she decided, as she and the girl walked hand in hand through the sunlit courtyard. Things were different now... _things were better now_.


	29. Beautiful Enchantress

At least an hour had passed since the morning's strange incident, and still yet the memory and mark of all those erratic feelings arched darkly over Iago's thoughts. He had since recovered from what he now perceived as a spell of utter and complete prostration, though he still wrested with the matter in his mind. What had come over him, that he had spoken so freely to Emilia? He pictured the pleading eyes, tears flowing freely as the fiendish angel bit demurely upon her roseate lips, arms wrapped around her trembling body… Sniveling wretch! Even as he imagined her in that state, it strained something within him, and Iago did not like it. He clawed his fingers into his cape, pulling it tighter over his chest, as if it might do something to shield his weakened heart against the vision.

Did he love Emilia? The question hung in his mind, even as he dodged the answering of it at all cost. To love Emilia was to sacrifice some part of himself and his dignity, to admit that he too possessed frailty, to confess that the enchantress had some measure of power over him. But to _not_ love Emilia was to deny some part of himself and misuse her humility, to profess weakness in a diligent avoidance of frailty, to see the sorceress crumble at his feet in a way that disgusted him. Her kiss had filled him with fire-though that hardly accounted for much, Iago thought phlegmatically, for any man at one time or another might be suddenly made subject to unbidden carnal desires.

He thought of the fierce loyalty that shone on her face when she had declared she would not leave him, though he should descend into utter and complete madness. What folly it was, and yet, what _admirable_ folly…and what sickening folly as well. He loved that she should pledge such unconditional allegiance to him; he hated that she should so obsequiously bind herself to him when just a night before he had abused her undeservedly. Was not Emilia wise? Perhaps being married to him had spoiled her good sense.

...Loyalty to _him_. She should remain at his side? Though he should traipse away into the darkness and never return…? If so, why then, _perhaps_...

Iago's eyes lit up savagely as he realized the addition to his arsenal that unsuspecting Emilia's deference made. Could not _this_ be used to the advantage? The thought filled him with cruel excitement and appalled shock alike. Yes, Emilia could serve as another pawn on the chessboard he was readying to set… A pawn? A fig! A _queen_ , haply. Indeed, dutiful Emilia could certainly play the queen… But surely, he would not involve an innocent woman in his unborn, underhand plot...

Nay, he _would_. Had not Emilia herself promised her adherence? And were not wives made to please their husbands, to make themselves useful to their lords?

Besides, Iago thought spitefully, Emilia might have sworn her loyalty, her allegiance, her adherence, but he did not know that she promised faithfulness, chastity, purity. There had been a passion, a thirst, a _lust_ within her kiss, had there not? Regardless if such feelings were meant for Iago, did that not import licentiousness and lechery? He grimaced and wiped his lips with his fingers, as though some bit of the gesture still lingered. Who could say that she really loved him? Perhaps she made a show of love, simply to mislead him at her own pleasure. Faith, Iago knew much about insincere shows of love.

He looked bitterly across the room, where the Moor and the lieutenant stood conferring, and imagined his wife stood between them. The imagined Emilia threw furtive, lascivious glances about her as her lips formed a sensual smirk, and Iago's jaw set in mute revulsion as he pictured the wench dancing about them, running her slender fingers over their chests, making coy gestures and blowing wanton kisses. The vision seemed so lifelike, in his sleep-deprived state, that he blinked several times and wondered if not it were true.

The imagined sight of it made Iago's blood run cold with anger and a vulnerable feeling of betrayal. It reminded him that he could trust no one, for who could know if one was truly honest? Emilia, beautiful enchantress as she was, was no exception.


	30. Military Matters

Othello was, first and foremost, a soldier. A general, perhaps, but rank meant nothing to him; it merely gave him better quarters and provisions, having no effect whatsoever on his fighting or his treatment of his men. War was his life, his passion...not bloodshed, for he was no murderous barbarian, despite what the dandies and patricians of Venice thought, but fighting, command. The thrill of the hunt. The slash of the sword, the twang of the bow. The cold nights in a tent, the maps and marches and campaigns. The true soldier's life.

...So, he was a soldier. He was not a statesman, or a wordsmith, or a poet. He was not a great philosopher or scientist. And he was _certainly_ not an arithmetician.

Cassio was quickly and expertly explaining the figures he had calculated, regarding plans for an improvement to the walls about Cyprus (though the Turks had been drowned, the world was not always safe, and it was best to be prepared), but Othello found that he could not make head nor tail of the complex numbers, forcing the young lieutenant to constantly point at the large map resting upon the table. Those gestures and pictures, he could understand...that the young man's proposed plan would work was another matter entirely...

Othello glanced up when Cassio paused for breath, feeling more than a little bemused by the torrent of mathematics his friend had spewed forth. Therefore his heart gladdened at the sight of a familiar lean shape, standing shadowed at the door with a dark cloak thrown carelessly on and clothes remarkably disheveled.

Iago's eyes were like ashen ice, staring fixedly at the space between Othello and Cassio as though he were seeing something no one else could see, something that made his jaw tighten and his eyes blink hard, as though dazed. He looked exhausted, and almost angry, and Othello couldn't keep from wondering why that was...but surely his concern could wait. The fate of the city could not.

"Iago!" he cried cheerfully, striding forward to clasp his ancient by the forearms. "You are just the man I was waiting for; I have been listening to Cassio's plans for defenses all morning, and I have not the heart to tell him that they will not work. Haply, our combined minds will concoct something brilliant to counter him with."


	31. Nary A Fault In His Facade

The sudden address was more than a little surprising, but Iago quickly adapted, grinning heartily at the man in front of him whom he hated with such ardor. "Haply, indeed!" he chuckled warmly, taking Othello's hand from his forearm to give it a healthy shake in greeting. "If it be between you and I, my lord, haply you shall hear me when I tell you that our dear lieutenant knows much about mathematics, and double _that_ about wooing, but yet is good Cassio but an infant in the ways of battle." Iago laughed facetiously, allowing the other two men to take it as a joke, though he acknowledged resentfully to himself just how true it was.

"Ah, well then. Let's see," Iago said, approaching the place where the lieutenant stood, Emilia's promiscuous apparition having danced away entirely. "What are those well-meant plans you speak of, lieutenant?" he asked kindly, clapping the man on the back with the air of someone seeking to correct constructively rather than to prove wrong.

Though Iago spoke amicably to the lieutenant and extended affable manners of gesture, he was reminded of how they had passed each other briefly, earlier that morning. That morning, just before Iago and Emilia had knelt and wept and kissed… Iago felt an inexplicable filthiness as he thought upon the impassioned deeds committed, coupled with a rush of the blood that was just as unaccountable-but he would not think of that now. It was difficult to recall all of the details through the haze of disorientation, but Iago definitely remembered that Cassio had said something regarding his wife, and that the lieutenant had possessed a peculiar gleam in his eye. By heaven, and then there was that unrightful kiss which noble Cassio had given her upon the ingress of Cyprus. These suspicions of the lieutenant mingled dangerously with Iago's tumultuous feelings toward Emilia, producing something even more unwholesome than the two original misgivings.

Even as Iago entertained these thoughts, both frantic and far-fetched and certainly not favorable toward either Cassio or Emilia, he continued to smile and nod with nary a fault in his facade. For who could know if one was truly honest?


	32. What Works (And What Does Not)

Othello watched with pride as his ancient trained his keen pale eyes upon the map as Cassio began describing his plans anew, looking more than a little abashed at the other man's good-natured corrections. Coming from the ensign's mouth, the lieutenant took the amendments as honest, informed observations...not uneducated guesswork, as he might have had Othello been doing the telling.

That was the problem with his face, he thought wryly; the good white men all thought him a simple barbarian who just happened to be a skilled soldier, merely because his skin was dark as heathens' pitch. But he was not bitter; no, he had resigned himself to that fact long ago, even exploited it for his own advantage when it suited. Although it irked him when his men would not accept his ideas with grace because of that, he at least had Iago, and now Cassio, to convince them.

"You see, Michael?" he asked jovially, sliding effortlessly out of his reverie to join the conference once more. "Your designs are based on theory only, with no thought for men's differing weights and burdens, or the unpredictable effects of storms and time. This is why we need men like myself and Iago here, to guide inexperienced pups like you to real understanding." He grinned as he spoke the words, clapping Cassio's velvet-swathed shoulder soundly when the man blushed. "Come!" he exclaimed. "Lighten up, man; we do not criticize you! We merely tell you what works and what does not."

Casting a glance at his ensign, meeting the weary pale eyes with his one dark ones, he added, "I thank you, Iago, for making Michael believe what I have been telling him all this morning. And I must say that you are cheerful now...I cannot help but wonder what it was you did in these few hours apart to cast aside this morning's black humor thus!"


	33. Black Humor

"'Black humor', say you?" Iago returned with a small chuckle, somewhat peeved that the Moor should bring up that which was most certainly not his business, but keeping the irritated thought entirely to himself. "A black humor, upon me? Why, I do not think it like my character! If there was anything akin to such sentiment in my person, I do apologize for it, and beg you to believe it was not my fault. Last night my wife did scold me and berate me with such vehemence in her tone as I thought my ears might fall off, and consequently, I secured no sleep, leaving me nearly half bereft of my wits this blessed morning."

Too late, Iago realized that perhaps Cassio had knowledge enough to doubt the shameless lie, and quickly resumed his speech, knowing that if he did so quick enough, there would not be time to process diminutive incongruities.

"Faith, my wife does vex me at times, but such will you find in any long-married couple. Good lieutenant Cassio certainly has no experience with which to attest to that. But tell me, my lord, how goes it with you and gentle Desdemona?" Iago allowed an inviting grin to grace his visage, encouraging the Moor to speak. "No such squabbles are to be found betwixt you and your wife, now are there?"


	34. I Love Her Too Well

"Your wife," Othello began slowly, somewhat (incongruously) amused, "did _scold_ and _berate_ with such _vehemence in her tone_ that you thought your _ears would fall off_?" He shook his head at that, chuckling softly as he pounded the ancient upon the back with one strong hand. "I'faith, your tongue is most cutting, Iago! 'Tis not fair to blame the sweet Emilia for all your vexations, though I do not doubt that such a coupling as your own, long-married as you are, has many such quarrels."

Thinking upon that, Othello sighed briefly, drawing his hand back to himself and running it over his shaven scalp. By God, but he _hoped_ that he and Desdemona would never have to suffer through such contretemps, no matter how long they remained by each others' sides. Surely their love was too great for all that...and though Othello loved Iago like his own brother, he he had precious little respect for a man who did not love his wife. Therefore he was hard-pressed to fault Emilia alone, though society most likely dictated otherwise.

The thoughtful, almost grim expression upon Cassio's countenance brought Othello out of his reverie. The young lieutenant was staring intently at the ancient's black-ringed eyes, as though searching for some hidden truth. Othello, frowning, made a mental note of that, and resolved to ask the man what his thoughts were, that would make him look so suspicious...

"No such squabbles are to be found betwixt you and your wife, now are there?" Iago asked suddenly, an inviting grin on his face. At that, Othello could not help but smile; inquiries regarding his Desdemona he was always more than pleased to answer.

"No, indeed," he replied, his eyes growing soft with affection. "I love her too well for that."


	35. Merits Of Chastity

"Indeed," Iago said knowingly, fondly. "Come, tell us of her virtues! Praise your bonny Desdemona aloud, that the lieutenant and I may hear what a gentle mistress she is. I know you are fairly itching to do so; your look imports it."

He put his arm soundly over Cassio's shoulders and chuckled, glancing at the lieutenant to scan the man's expression. Cassio was thinking, and it was only too evident that he thought too much. What an assuming, pretentious knave...it would do him well to be put in his place.

All these thoughts crossed Iago's mind in less than a second. "Come, lieutenant; do not look so solemn!" Iago cried teasingly, shaking Cassio a little. "Surely you are not disheartened because the plans you did convey to us were so quickly done away with! You are but young in your lieutenantry, mark you that, and you will learn soon enough; you will soon be schooled in the ways of war and the bearings of battle-but as for the present, my lord now wishes to school us in those elements that make a wife so fair, a man might fear another man's jealousy, and be almost half inclined to check every morning that he has not begun to grow a pair of horns in his sleep!" He laughed, and then turned to the Moor in merry apology. "'Tis but a jest, my lord, and it speaks to some other fair-wived man that, by heaven, is most certainly not you. For we all three know that Desdemona is too chaste. But now, perhaps, you will tell us of her other merits as well."


	36. Were I A Jealous Man

"I should not like to find those horns you speak of growing upon my head," Othello mused, feeling a bit discomfited by Iago's insinuation...though he had meant naught by it, surely... "And were I a man given to fits of jealousy and anger, I should be offended that you would think my wife capable of making me such a man as that. You said it yourself; she is chaste as a young child, and just as innocent. She would have to be bewitched to do such a thing!"

That thought nearly made him smile, uneasy as he was; to remind himself of the very accusation that had been placed upon him when first the grave Brabantio had discovered his elopement with Desdemona, in this context, was quite laughable...or rather, it would have been, had said context been a matter of little import, which it was not. So he did not smile, did not express any mirth that he might normally have felt at such a jest. Insults toward his wife, no matter how risible or untrue, were something to be taken seriously, indeed.

"Were I a jealous man," he told Iago, hoping to convey the gravity of his opinion, "I would take your curiosity regarding my wife amiss, and I appreciate no slights aimed at her. But..." And he trailed off, offering the younger man a rueful smile, "You speak true when you say it pleases me to speak of her merits; in faith, Iago, you know me too well. Surely you realize that I could praise her for hours?"


	37. Emilia, Emilia, Emilia

In response to the offense that Othello had justly taken at Iago's statement, Iago assumed (and very excellently, he marked to himself) an expression of flustered mortification.

"O-of course, I do indeed realize that you could praise her for hours, as it is all the praise she deserves," he said, placing wavering timbres in his voice as he let go of Cassio and bowed feverishly. "I am but exceedingly penitent, my lord. I did not think my words through, and truly, I fear I have injured you. It was but a jest, but an ill-crafted jest, and I shall do better in the future not to make such crude and insinuating quips again. Do go on, my lord… Act as though you were never interrupted by such baseness as that I have here exhibited."

Iago wished to glance at Cassio once more, but he thought the doing so might make himself appear dubious, so instead he fixed his eyes on Othello: regretfulness being expressed, but hatred and paranoia being concealed. Iago could not shake the perceived weight of Cassio's suspicions, and he wondered why he had chosen his wife to blame for his exhaustion, when it would have been more to his advantage to accuse some other benign cause.

Truly, it had been because he could not tear Emilia from his mind. The thought of her both teased and tormented. Emilia smiling, Emilia frowning, Emilia caressing, Emilia cowering, Emilia shrieking, Emilia stifling, Emilia weeping, Emilia sleeping, Emilia kissing, Emilia laughing, Emilia dancing, Emilia flirting, Emilia with Othello, Emilia with Cassio, Emilia with any man that was other than he, Emilia, Emilia, Emilia, Emilia… Though he was faintly aware that the general was speaking, Iago was frozen in a feigned smile and saw in his mind's eye a thousand Emilias, each more peculiarly tortuous and more inexplicably hated than the last. Would the wench not drive him mad?


	38. Untimely Jests

"Too penitent," Othello said jokingly, putting aside his offense; it would not do to remain angry at a brother, no matter what slights he made. "Truly, your insult was not so great. Hurtful though the jest was, it pained me on behalf of my wife...and indeed, it was but jest."

"Perhaps," Cassio remarked dryly, speaking for the first time. "I myself cannot much tell when you are jesting, Iago, and when you speak in earnest."

"Well," Othello said mildly, "I have found it to be like this. My ancient here, like all other honest men, smiles when he speaks in jest, and frowns in earnest. You who are so skilled in manners and social matters would surely find that to be expected.

"Besides, Iago," he added, raising thick black brows at the ensign as he directed his words to him. "I would not have you apologize for your baseness, as you say, since I have come to expect such bawdy quips from you as an integral part of your character."

Iago, though, did not reply to the good-natured jibe; instead, he seemed frozen in place, staring transfixed at some point in the distance as the jovial grin slipped from his thin lips. It was as though he was plagued by some sudden, poisonous thought that held him spellbound in its horror...

"A night's repose lost has left you half bereft of your wits, indeed," Cassio muttered, just too quietly for Othello to hear. Then louder, he added, "Iago! My God, what ails you, man? Surely the general's jest did not merit such shock!"


	39. Learn How To Better Deceive

Upon hearing his name, Iago was able to recover himself and bring himself back to the present moment. "There is no need for such disquieted disturbance in your voice, lieutenant," he said coolly, giving him a sidelong glance, "Am I not standing here beside you? My ears do work. I almost think you mean to mock me." He paused, cursing himself that he had let himself lose track of the conversation, but not allowing the frustration to show.

"Ah, yes. My lord, will you not speak of Desdemona?" Iago resumed his original pleasantness, hoping that the manner in which he did so was fairly seamless. Although he had become quite practiced in the pretense of emotions, he noticed that if he was not mindful, he sometimes switched betwixt them too quickly without a medium. Or rather, he noticed when _others_ noticed. Many times, the other was Emilia, and the necessity to avoid her detection of his falsehood gave him no choice but to continue to learn how to better deceive. Emilia… To the depths with Emilia! He would not think of her now.


	40. Secrets And Lies

"Still harping on Desdemona!" Othello exclaimed, noting the obvious tension between ancient and lieutenant, and choosing deliberately not to remark upon it. "In faith, Iago, I do think you mean to make a fool of me! Haply would I speak of her to you both, for hours on end, you know, but we have not hours to spare, and so I am afraid I must decline."

When again Iago seemed not to hear, appearing lost in dark thought once more, Othello realized, grimly, that Cassio's words may well have been spoken true, not meant in mockery...and that worried him.

"Iago, brother," he said, gently as he could. "I would fain have you leave us for some hours, and return to your chamber; I think your lack of rest has affected you more than you yourself believe. Besides the which..." He turned then to Cassio, casting an appraising eye over the knowing, pensive expression upon the younger man's face. "I have need of discourse with you, Michael. I think there is something you both are not telling me, and you know how I despise secrecy of any kind."


	41. Storms Of Reality

Suddenly, here was a dangerous situation. What would that idiotic lieutenant tell the Moor? Still, though, Iago recognized that there was nothing to be done that would help the circumstance. It would do no good to linger.

"Certainly, my lord," he said with simplicity, giving a slight bow. And away he went, assuming no particular gait as he exited.

Whatever Cassio could possibly say, Iago had no doubt that he would be able to discredit the lieutenant's words and make them seem utter falsehoods. Of course he would be able to; had he not done the very same a hundred times before? Iago fanned the flames of pride in his heart, hoping to choke out the weeds of uneasiness. Undeniably, his word would be trusted over Cassio's, would it not?

But of course, if Iago was more trusted than Cassio, then certainly the whole incident with the promotion would not have unfolded the way it did. Iago sneered at no one, the flames of pride being quenched by the storming seas of reality.

Iago sat down on a bench in the courtyard, placing his head in his hands and rubbing his temples. If it was discovered that he had beaten his wife, the righteous Moor would no doubt dismiss him. And Iago would _not_ allow that to happen, for he knew that he _deserved_ to be lieutenant, and he had resolved that _he would be_ lieutenant, no matter what. It was no longer the position itself that Iago desired. It was the knowledge that _he_ was _right_ and everyone else who failed to acknowledge him was wrong-and O, how deadly wrong they were.

Emilia… If the undeserving lieutenant suspected that Iago had mistreated his wife, would he not ask the wench herself? And, captivated by the lieutenant's wily charms, would not the strumpet betray him? Well, well. Iago possessed his own charms, too, and with these charms he might bolster Emilia's promise to protect him and seal her lips for surety. For though she had appeared determined not to do him wrong, she was a woman, and her feelings could change as quickly as a storm that invaded a summer day.

The thoughts were full of spite and tarnished acerbically the good name that Iago knew, distantly, that Emilia had always possessed. He dismissed the slanders so he would not have to wrestle over the guilt that crept upon him as he thought them, and instead formulated a plan of action.

"...Indeed," mused Iago, folding his hands in his lap, "if one pulls forcefully at a mule's reins and chastises it, it may grow resentful and obstinate. But offer carrots and cubes of sugar, and even though she is still being made to do your work, she will grow to trust you and be only too eager to do your bidding." He chuckled lowly over the analogy. "Besides…if I am to make my wife the queen with which I shall win this match, would it not be necessary to treat her as such?"

He smiled furtively, and, standing up, began to pick a bouquet of flowers.


	42. Telling Answer

"Certainly, my lord," Iago said simply, bowing but slightly before turning to walk, with his unaffected long stride of typicality, out the door, closing it quietly behind him as he exited.

Cassio watched him go, feeling a slight quiver of exultation run through his marrow and bones as the ensign's lithe figure disappeared down the wide, dimly lit hall. Now, at long last, he was alone with the general, who had implied, with his sure, grave tone, that he would be questioning the young lieutenant of a matter of much import.

Haply it would be of the now-departed ancient, for Cassio's mind still burned with the images of the long shadows of bruises upon the fair Emilia's cheeks, and the unsightly scrapes and breaks on Iago's now-bandaged hands...thinking on that, he was not much inclined to believe the wife had treated the husband's wounds, after her grievous treatment the night before...

Othello needed to know precisely what sort of duplicitous, violent, unpredictable serpent he had taken to his bosom in calling Iago ensign and friend (it was most fortuitous, therefore, that that man had not been made lieutenant in lieu of himself)...and it would be Cassio's place, as second-in-command and confidant, to tell him so.

"What do you require of me, my lord?" he asked, inclining his head in a gesture of both respect and familiarity. "What is it you wish to know? Haply will I know of what you speak, that I may provide a telling answer."


	43. I Ask This Of You

"Haply you may know," Othello echoed, "for so it certainly appears. What was the import of our ancient's peculiar manner and haunting looks? I believe you know of what I speak, for such is your expression. In faith, there is something troubled in your eyes that leads me turn to you for answers. Do not hold back, Michael; as yours and his commander, I ask this of you."

Cassio's eyes looked as though they guarded secrets of some urgency, and Othello did not doubt the man's keen judgment-forsooth, for what other reason would he have chosen Michael Cassio lieutenant? Still, Othello did not think there could be any sort of quarrel betwixt ancient and lieutenant, though Cassio had looked uneasy from the very moment he had set eyes on Iago that morning-almost as though he found the man suspicious. A laughable thought, as Othello had known Iago for a very long time, and the ensign was the last man he would ever think duplicitous! In any respect, however, Othello doubted that there could be a feud between Cassio and Iago. He knew both men to be exceedingly virtuous and far above such petty dispute. Truly, Cassio had to have some earnest concern for his comrade, whatever it may be.


	44. Shackles Of A Deleterious Bond

Cassio cast his clear gaze upon the ground, sighing slightly as the weight of the general's inquiry fell upon his shoulders. Though he knew without doubt that Iago deserved the harsh punishment his grievous actions merited, some part of him, that had known the man as an honest, loyal, and capable soldier and friend, was loath to debase him so, by accusing him of such grave sins.

...And yet, was not Emilia's poor injured face more than enough grounds to proceed with his accusations? Did not the gentle lady deserve to be free from the shackles of such a deleterious bond? He could not, in good conscience, afford to harbor any qualms about revealing Iago's true nature (and O, what a horrid thing it was, indeed...) when the innocent wife's health- perhaps even her very life!- was at stake!

"My lord," Cassio began, uncertain despite his conviction of purpose. "Othello. Truly, I...I do not like this office...but sith I am entered in this cause so far...it behooves me to relate this sad news, though surely you will shudder in grief at the telling. This very morning did I see Emilia, wife of your ancient, standing alone in the courtyard. She seemed quite distraught, and begged me to tell her if I knew where her husband was. My lord, as she asked, I glimpsed upon her face two disconcerting shadows...bruises, I saw, when she turned to face me fully. They were the sort made by open hands, general...and as she is an honest, faithful, sensible creature, she could not have gotten them anywhere other than at home. ...I do not need to tell you what that imports."

The young lieutenant paused then, for breath, and observed the carefully blank, hard look in Othello's eyes with some trepidation. "Pray let me continue," he said tremulously. "Do not judge me till I am through. I am sure, general, that you noticed the bandages upon the ancient's hands just now...bandages that he did not have earlier. They now covered grievous hurts, gotten from punching walls. And the strange darkness in his eyes, my lord, and the fear in Emilia's, to say nothing of the exhaustion in both...I do believe, Othello, that last night the two did argue much...to the point of abuse. Forgive me; I know no more than that."


	45. Most Unprecedented

Othello was silent as Cassio related these deductions, at a loss for response of any kind. What could he mean by this? Iago, _abuse_ his wife? It was easy to mark that Iago did not particularly hold his wife in admiration, but for Iago to _abuse_ her with his own hands? It was only too preposterous. Surely Cassio did not suspect him of such an egregious sin as _that_!

"...I do not judge you unfairly, Michael," he said in a low voice, "but do you unfairly judge _him_? I would never suspect you of speaking falsehoods. For what reason would you suspect my ancient of mistreating his wife?"

He exhaled then, noting the worried look on Cassio's face. Indeed, Cassio spoke out of genuine concern from the heart, not from wildly malicious misgiving; Othello found merit in the sentiment, though not in the suspicion. Iago, to misuse his own wife!

"You know no more than that: it is as you say. But I pray you, lieutenant...do you even know _that_? I do not think but Iago is honest, and it is this assessment of his character that prevents me from trusting your word with all speed as if it were divine inspiration." Othello hoped that the younger man did not take his disbelief unkindly, for he did not hold it against Cassio's integrity. But still, what an accusation! Such an incident would be most unprecedented.


	46. Send For The Lady

Cassio ran his hands through his dark curls, blowing out a breath of frustration as he did. It was plain that Othello did not believe him... No, not quite that. He believed Cassio's _word_ as honest truth, but could not seem to comprehend that Iago would be capable of such a sin as he was accused of.

...But he _was_ capable of that, and more! Fore God, Cassio had seen the proof with his own eyes; he had _told_ Othello of that proof! Would the general have to see Emilia and question her for himself, to glean some understanding regarding his perspective?

That thought gave Cassio pause, and he realized, stunned, that it was the perfect opportunity for both. Othello would learn of the truth from a mouth other than Cassio's, and Emilia could clear her conscience by unveiling this horrific deed. Besides that, she likely held Othello in higher regard than she did Cassio...would that not make her more likely to reveal herself to him?

"I assure you, general," he began slowly, confident in having this plan. "My accusation is not ill-founded, nor were my observations mistaken. But I can see you do not believe me alone. I pray you, send for the lady Emilia to come and relate the deed; haply she may confess to you what she could not to me."


	47. Sound Revisions

The general paused for a moment. Truly, Cassio was sincere in this belief, and would even bid Emilia come hither, that she might attest to the allegation! There was no doubting that Cassio feared the worst, but still Othello did not know that he could believe such a notion…

"...Very well," he answered at last. "I shall inquire Emilia for her account. But first, Michael...we must conclude the business with which we have been previously occupied. Even if you do not think the highest of Iago, one cannot deny that the revisions he has suggested to you are sound."


	48. Fretful Folly

"Of course, general," Cassio replied graciously. "You are in the right...I only pray that you keep to your word, and do not dismiss mine as fretful folly."


	49. Knavery's Plain Face

Concealed by a tall hedge, Iago stood quietly and watched the two women from afar. He felt as though he appeared much like the ardent schoolboy, hiding in the arbor with a bouquet of flowers in hand, plotting the execution of the gesture comprehensively. He was not sure what part of Emilia he should appeal to. Her sympathy, perhaps? Her fancy?

...Nay, none. He would not appeal to any one sentiment directly. He needed to be adaptable in accordance to how Emilia responded to him, and knowing Emilia, his ploy would be most surreptitious if he did not assume any humor that was too unfamiliar to his character. He would not be able to know for certainty just how he would carry this out until he had already done it… Indeed, knavery's plain face was never seen till used.

"...for 'twas then that he finally gave up, and I have not seen the poor man since. A most stalwart suitor, indeed," Desdemona said, finishing her story with a demure smile. "Hark, I am nearly inclined to think that my father was he who set the act on...though of course he is much too honorable to admit that he might bid his servants unburden chamber pots over men's heads." She chuckled, then sighed, with a wistfulness in her breath. "Faith, at times I do miss my father, disavowed as I am…" She trailed off with the sorrowful thought, before noticing out of the corner of her eye that they were being approached. She looked up, and then turned to Emilia.

"Is that not your husband, good Emilia?" she asked in a whisper, leaning toward the woman that she might hear. "Is all well?"

The ensign had upon his countenance a peculiarly sorrowful-seeming demeanor, as if something troubled him so that it made him unable to think else. His hands were behind his back, and he made purposeful strides toward them. Immediately Desdemona looked once more to Emilia, hoping that in doing so she would find explanation.


	50. A Man With A Secret

"My husband?" Emilia echoed, too surprised to do away with bluntness. What business had Iago here, at this hour? Should he not have been with the general and the soldiers in the Citadel? And what did his grieved look import? Truly, it worried her dearly...

"Iago? My husband, what is the matter? What do you here alone?" Slowly, mindful of her still-tender body, she rose to meet him, as perplexed as Desdemona and just as discomfited...but a small, young part of her, that had been awakened anew that morning, cried out eagerly at the sight of him, somber though he was.

It was that joy, that passion, that guided her hands to his shoulders, guided her lips to his cheek to place a chaste kiss upon it, not wishing to make Desdemona any more suspicious than she was.

"Truly, you look like a man with a secret," she teased softly, running one hand down the length of his muscled arm to catch hold of something...soft...clutched behind his back. "What is it you hide from me? Your mien imports some grave occurrence, but in faith, I could almost believe that you keep flowers behind your back..."


	51. No Flowers Behind My Back

Ah, so she teased. Presently, then, Emilia must be in a light-hearted humor-well, he would adjust himself accordingly. Iago relaxed as though he was relieved to note this spiritedness in her, letting his features ease into a calm that matched his wife's, and brought the bouquet out from behind his back, presenting it to her. Since she had teased him, he decided he would tease back.

"In faith, madam," he said, matter-of-factly, turning around to look over his shoulder, "I see no flowers behind my back. Are you certain that you see correctly?" He turned back to her, willing a subtle appearance of mirth into his eyes, though he did not quite smile. "I do, however, see flowers kept within your own lovely hands, and not behind my back…" He took her hands and folded her fingers around the stems of the flowers. "Since you dare speak such falsehoods, I do but think you mean to deceive me." Here he managed an exhalation that was somewhat akin to a gentle laugh as he met her eyes.

O, what eyes. Iago lost himself for a moment as he stared into them, momentarily forgetting his purpose even as he struggled to regain it. He felt a warmth upon what he supposed to be his heart; with some degree of shame he realized he had not feigned the sensation. It was no matter, as long as he kept his intentions about him… He looked down at her hands, folded within his, and without thought wrapped his fingers a little more tightly around them.


	52. What Manner Of Devilry Was This?

Emilia stared down at the fresh-plucked bouquet in shock, barely hearing Desdemona's squeal of excitement behind her. What manner of devilry was this? Iago, giving her flowers? Fore God, he was _teasing_ her, though his mirth did not quite reach either his eyes or his lips, as though it were being carefully contrived...just for her.

Not one day past, she would have been crippled by suspicion, would have thrown the flowers at Iago's feet and demanded to know what cruel sport he made of her now, what twisted game he was playing. But now...O heavenly God; she did not know what to make of this now! The flowers, the banter...Iago's pale eyes locked on hers, as though he were drowning in their depths. His bandaged hands, tightening ever so gently about hers as they both stood mute.

"Of course she means not to deceive you, ancient." Desdemona spoke suddenly, startling them both from their separate reveries. "How was she to know what gallantry you had hidden?"

"Yes," Emilia mused, smiling slightly. "How, indeed?" Carefully, not wanting to jostle the perfect (though dirt-covered) bouquet, she lifted it to her lips, and raised her eyes to Iago's once more. "I thank you, husband, for bringing me these...but I cannot help but wonder what I have done to merit such a pleasant gift. Nor can I keep from thinking that you should be within the Citadel, as much as it pleases me to have you here before me."


	53. Repentant

For some strange reason that Iago could not mark, he felt a small swell of pleasure at the fact that he had surprised a smile to her face. Where had she learned to craft such a wonderfully, gracefully bemused smile? Certainly only devils could suggest such heavenly shows.

Deciding it would make a happy addition to the facade (which seemed with every passing moment to become frighteningly more and more in earnest), Iago leaned forward to peck her brow with a quick kiss.

"You have done nothing to merit it, mistress," he told her. "The merit was already your own to begin with. As for the Citadel…" He drew himself a little bit away, presently, allowing the anxious note to creep a little bit into his countenance and his gaze to wander. "I was there, but I was dismissed from our conference. The general did not think I looked well…" He bade his eyes soften as he turned back to look at his wife once more with the same slightly troubled expression. "In truth, Emilia, I could not stop thinking of you."

He paused to let the words ripen in the air, then, glancing toward Desdemona, lowered his voice so that only Emilia could hear it. "...I cannot keep myself from thinking about what befell us yesternight, Emilia. It haunts me so I can hardly do else but think." He placed his hands carefully about her face so that he barely touched her shadowed cheeks.

"...Speak, Emilia, and tell me true: do you believe me when I tell you I am repentant? If you are, it does little to ease my own conscience, but at least I may know you do not hold me in your scorn, or at least do not wish to make it beknownst to me. If you do not...I understand to the fullest." He drew a faint timbre of despair into his voice, saying the last few words with something of a distraught resignation, and closing his eyes in an expression of shame.


	54. Tell Me True

"The general spoke true in his concern," Emilia murmured, caressing the shadows beneath his closed eyes even as he did the same to those upon her cheeks. "Were I not so preoccupied myself with those same thoughts, I would hardly believe that it is naught but fear of condemnation that plagues you."

In faith, she knew that it was not, no more than she was pained merely by fear of the breakage of their tenuous, new-wrought peace...but both of their bodily hurts were transcended by the distress of doubt this day. It would do no good to reiterate what they both knew only too well.

Still, the despair in his low voice, the self-damning resignation in his closed eyes, moved her to compassion; she could, at the very least, ease his fears as best she could, before asking him to do the same...not that she expected him to concede to the comforting, even after all that had transpired.

"Truly I would like to believe in your repentance," she replied, giving his honest plea the benefit of an honest response. "I would, too, were it not for the uncertainty in my own heart, that this..." Dare she call it love? Was it that, now? Would Iago accept it if it was...or would he run from her again, shun her and beat her and run like the wretched coward she had thought him to be all of these years?

"This...understanding," she continued tremulously, not entirely satisfied with the amendment. "Were I not so fearful that it should break apart at any moment, that all should return to how it was before, I would believe you. Believe me, Iago, I _would_." Emphatically, she placed her hands at the sides of his face, mirroring his posture, making his pale eyes flicker slowly open so she could gaze hard into them, praying that her own eyes conveyed the conviction that her faltering tongue could not.

"Tell me true," she whispered, too grieved now for any timber greater than that. "Tell me that this will last, or if it will not, tell me that, too. I can bear these misgivings no longer."


	55. Inner War

Iago did not speak. Faintly, he wished that he could give Emilia a solemn promise, mean it with all of his being, and keep it to the end of time. Her words anguished him, reminded him that both of them were human, told him that she doubted him just as much as he did her. O, what pain there was to be had in that.

Of course Emilia doubted him. Did she not have a million reasons to distrust? Still, it wounded his pride. Emilia was the only person Iago knew who would ever think to question his honesty. She was the only one who was not completely blind; she was the only one who could see but faintly through the wool that he pulled over every pair of eyes he was met with… And in realizing that Emilia was not blind, Iago was able to see through the callous delusion that he had willingly cast upon himself.

He loved her. Iago _loved_ her! He knew it now, as much as he had known it when he had denied it with all conviction. The world was thoroughly peopled with individuals whom Iago hated-if there was anyone in all of creation that he loved, excluding himself, it was certainly Emilia! Truly, this woman was unrelentingly gracious-even as she doubted, she trusted there was some capability of good in him. There was hardly a person Iago knew of who did not trust him, but they were all people whom he had fooled. Emilia had not even begun to scratch the surface of Iago's monstrous nature, but she knew he was not always as honest as he seemed-and even _yet_ she was willing to give him another chance to earn her faith! How dared he use Emilia for his own ends and abuse her generosity? She, who was so full of mercy and so devoted without condition!

Iago swallowed with some difficulty, realizing the dryness of his throat.

"...I can promise you nothing, for fear that Fate will twist my well-meant words into lies," whispered honest Iago after a moment of trepidatious silence. "But truly, Emilia, and I mean this with all my heart… I will do whatever is in my power to make sure I never have to see you suffer again. You are the only one capable of conquering those demons that lurk within me. _You_ are the only person whom I know can save me. By heaven, I need you above all others." Iago ran his tongue desiccatedly over his lips. "...Perhaps it will not last. But I will _fight_ , Emilia, to make it last as long as I can, though it should kill me in the process. I cannot bear your unhappiness, and I cannot survive without your love." He looked at her intensely, beginning to feel the coming on of a cold sweat even as he pretended to look upon her with a loving determination. "...Thus, I tell you: I refuse to allow us to be found once more in that same dark place."

Each second leading up to Emilia's reaction to this passionate confession struck a blade into Iago's heart. He had crafted his speech so that very little of it was composed of outright lies, but the message that the words imported was, in all honesty, a falsehood. He told her that he would change, that he would do his best to take her interests into account. He knew that he would do no more than continue to keep his heart attending on himself.

Tormented by his inner war, Iago propelled himself forward and kissed Emilia with all the passion of the confused frenzy within.


	56. Empty Promises He Could Not Keep

When Iago's lips fell desperately upon hers, Emilia opened her mouth more out of shock at the sudden gesture than out of any conscious desire to invite him deeper. This kiss was so abrupt, so passionate and harsh, that she did not know quite how to react. Should she give in to the screams of her heart, and kiss him back? Or should she push him away, heeding the warnings her mind gave, the cries of _"A ploy! A trap!"_

Shaking in the aftermath of battling passion and sense, Emilia gently placed her hands upon Iago's shoulders, taking a step back and breaking the bond between them with her cautious retreat...though she regretted her withdrawal once Iago opened his eyes to stare, dazed, at her once more. Pain flickered through those pale orbs, pain and torment akin to any of the previous night's tension. Her husband, she realized, was fighting some losing battle within his own mind...and O, how she wished she never again had to bear that conflicted look!

"What is it that plagues your thoughts so?" she whispered, closing the distance betwixt them once again to run her slender fingers through his disheveled hair. "Do you fear my mistrust still? Do you trust yourself so little that you think me unable to accept your promises of love and amendment without doubt?" Never mind that, in the part of her that was sensible, matronly, keen Emilia, she felt and _knew_ his words to be empty promises he could not keep...


	57. Devil And His Dam

She spoke, but Iago could not make sense of the words, though he stared straight into her face and heard no other voice but hers. He felt almost as if he were drowning, and not in the way that he had felt so when he had been captivated by Emilia's eyes. This time the sensation was fraught with a panic that both paralyzed him and demanded he escape. He had arrived here confident in his purpose and, to some extent, his execution. Now it took a taxing amount of strength to recall either.

The Moor's wife still stood some distance away from them, looking on with bewilderment; apparently she could not hear all that was being said, but surely the language of their bodies was enough to convey something of abnormality. Iago looked blankly at Desdemona for a brief moment. Had she been there the entire time? She had. Iago looked back at Emilia, unsure of what to do next.

Zounds, he had lost all control of the situation. He was transparent to her eyes. His wits had escaped him, left him gaping dumbly at her like a frightened animal. What _was_ this? This was not supposed to happen!

Disoriented, Iago looked at her silently for a moment. Then, without thought, he opened his reckless mouth to speak.

"Do you want those flowers, mistress?" he asked impassively, extending a hand as if to take them. "If you do not, I shall…" He tried to think of an adequate punishment for the blossoms as retribution for their failure to please. "...I shall build a pyre and send them to Hell for the devil and his dam to strew about and decorate themselves with."

Iago had no idea what _that_ was supposed to mean, but he said it, for it came to mind. What a babbling dolt he was! Deeply embarrassed by this inexplicable display of idiocy, Iago withdrew himself and started to walk away at a hurried pace. Truly, it was not healthy for a man to pass a night without sleep. Certainly Emilia worried for him now, though likely she worried for his sanity more than anything else! He dared not turn back to look at her as he began to leave in humiliation, as well as a kind of wonder that he had managed to make such a fool of himself.


	58. Raving Desperation

Emilia watched her husband stride away, her mouth agape in shock. He would just leave her, then, with such an odd rambling for a farewell? What had he meant by that enigmatic statement? Surely a doubtful acceptance of such an unforeseen gift did not merit the threat of sending the blooms to _Hell_ as punishment!

...And yet...she could not bear to call him back. Not when she was so unsure what she might find. He had seemed completely lost and bewildered ere his abrupt departure, lost in her eyes and his poisonous thoughts, and his words, impassive though they were, held within them a raving desperation that frightened her much. And he had left in such haste, as though he had humiliated himself, and could not bear to face her for it...

O, but she did fear. She feared for his well-being, now more than ever, seeing that...and she feared for his sanity just as much. Had she not but this morning called him touched? Truly, she was beginning to believe it in earnest...

So great was her stupefaction, so rigid and transfixed did it keep her, that she did not notice Desdemona moving slowly up to stand at her back, staring in the direction Iago had gone with a confusion that mirrored hers. "What has just transpired, Emilia?" she asked delicately, placing one arm around the older woman's shoulders in attempt at comforting understanding. "Truly, I cannot even begin to understand..."


	59. Peculiar

"...Neither can I," Emilia murmured, turning slowly to look at the girl and give her an encouraging pat on the shoulder, hoping to assure her that she was not as shaken as she knew she appeared. "In faith, that was...most peculiar." She looked down at the flowers she still held, as though they were dangerous and at any given moment might explode or burst into flames. Gingerly, she loosened her fingers until her hand had opened fully, palm down, and the stems had slipped from her grasp.

For a moment or two she simply looked at the flowers that lay there in the grass so forsakenly. Then she sighed and knelt down to pick them back up again.

"Good morrow, gentle mistresses," came a voice suddenly from some distance behind them, causing both women to turn and look. It was the lieutenant Cassio, and he came up to meet them with a purposeful stride and an affectionate grin. "Good day to you, my lady," he greeted Desdemona as he came closer, taking her hand to place a kiss upon it. "And good day to you again, fair Emilia." He smiled and nodded in brief acknowledgement of their earlier meeting, though he discreetly eyed her up and down in a way that betrayed his concern for her.

"How goes it with you, ladies?" Cassio asked pleasantly, breaking his gaze from Emilia to address them both. "'Tis a fine day, is it not?"


	60. New Developments

"Indeed it is, lieutenant," Emilia replied, smiling, praying that Cassio would not sense the tension and befuddlement that had suffused the air in Iago's wake. In faith, the young man was too perceptive; he could surely sense that something was amiss, if the concern with which he regarded her was any indication.

Unobtrusively, Emilia laid the forlorn bouquet, now half-wilting in the potent sun of Cyprus, atop the low stone wall, willing Cassio not to inquire about it, knowing that his suspicions would only grow if she was made to explain.

"You are out of conference with the general, then?" she asked, in an effort to distract him. "Pray tell, what new developments did you speak of?"


	61. Nothing So Grave

Cassio gave a sheepish chuckle. "Well, I proposed some new designs of my own invention for the defensive walls surrounding Cyprus, but the keen Iago quickly showed me that that my plans were much flawed. The general and I have spent these past few minutes adjusting the plans in accordance to his suggestions…" He trailed off, giving way to a brief pause. "...Which reminds me of why I sought you out initially. The general would like to speak with you, lady Emilia."

Desdemona began to hitch up her skirts and take Emilia's hand at this, but Cassio quickly took Desdemona's hands in his own. "Privately, that is," he added, glancing at each of them with gentle eyes. He pressed Desdemona's fingers lightly, and then leaned over crosswise to give Emilia a heartening kiss on the cheek. "It is nothing so grave, mistress. I would beseech you head thither."


	62. His Gallant Kiss

Emilia flushed deeply as Cassio's soft, full lips met her cheek; though the gesture was affectionate and chaste, she couldn't help the shiver that ran through her at the touch. Her fantasies regarding this man had long since passed and been quashed...and she refused to let herself be affected by his gallant kiss now.

She stepped away from him and pressed her hand to Desdemona's gently, giving her lady a reassuring smile as she did. "Of course I will speak with him," she told the lieutenant. "I cannot imagine that he would summon me to converse with him in private without cause." Casting one last glance at Desdemona's white hands, still ensconced firmly in the larger ones of Cassio, she began to walk towards the Citadel's stout, barred doors, wondering what need the Moor had of her, to call her to him thus.


	63. Ill Deed

Othello paced swiftly to and fro about the Citadel chamber, his footsteps reverberating off the walls and the high ceiling. The echoes emphasized the hollow silence that had been present since Cassio's departure, so he finally retired the pacing and simply stood unassumingly with his back to the door and his arms folded behind himself in a stately manner. The lieutenant had left to fetch the ancient's wife.

Could it be true? Othello still did not think it possible that Iago would dare strike his wife. Such an act would be incongruent with the man's good and honest nature, and by heaven, to lay hand upon one's wife was indeed a grievous sin. _I would be damned ere I even considered to perform such ill deed_ , Othello thought, grimly pressing his lips together. He loved the gentle Desdemona too dearly. He was not much acquainted with Emilia, but certainly she was a woman no more deserving of maltreatment than sweet Desdemon.

He heard the door creak open slightly behind him, and he turned, finding Emilia there. The woman held herself well; she had an elegant posture that asked respect simply for her presence, and she was neither timid nor bold. Good qualities in a wife; undoubtedly Iago had married an honorable woman. For what reason would he abuse her?

"Good day, Emilia," Othello said, inclining his head slightly as a sign of acknowledgement. "I thank you for arriving on such short notice. How is it with you? I trust my Desdemona is well?"


	64. Veneer Of Casual Deference

"Good morrow, my lord," Emilia replied, dipping into a respectful curtsy. "It is well with me, and with your wife, though I truly believe that she is anxious regarding my unexpected summons. However, she is in capable hands with your lieutenant."

Othello appeared relieved by this news, and Emilia straightened her posture, examining him, as was her wont. A strong figure he cut, tall and broad, with his powerful soldier's arms visible through a sleeveless white jerkin that offset his black skin brilliantly. His eyes, dark and bright like burning coals, bore into hers with a keen interest, as though he was taking her measure.

They lingered upon her cheeks, where she knew the shadows of bruises still lay, and immediately Emilia felt discomfited, certain that he would deduce precisely what had transpired. Still, she maintained a veneer of casual deference, not wishing to divulge what to him would surely be a sickening tale.

"May I know why you summoned me here, my lord?" she inquired, hoping her voice betrayed no quiver of the anxiety she truly felt.


	65. Wrought By Iago's Hand

Though the ancient's wife stood straight and spoke with relative confidence, it did not hide the faint, symmetrical discolorations of her cheeks. Cassio had forewarned that Othello would see these markings, and claimed them to be the injuries Iago was supposed to have caused. _They are bruises_ , quoth the lieutenant, _wrought by Iago's hand_. Othello looked upon the shadows scrutinizingly, for indeed they existed, but he made no comment on them at present. That would be much too forward, and Othello was a man of tact.

"Certainly you will know why I have called you hither, as is your right," he answered her, crossing the room a little ways away to draw a wooden chair out from under one of the nearby tables and gesturing toward it lithely. "Will you not set yourself here, Emilia? There is something we must needs discuss, and I would not have you stand for the entirety of it." A pleasant note crept into his resonant voice as he said this, and he waited for her to come and sit before he took his place across from her, with a suitable but comfortable distance between them.

"...I hope you will not find it obtrusive, Emilia, if I ask of your husband," he said gently, after a few moments' passing. He kept the cordialness in his voice so as to keep her at ease, and did not stray his dark eyes from hers. "In troth, this morning I could sense that something was, perhaps, amiss. As I am both his superior and his friend, it is my duty to know of any ailment that may be affecting him."


	66. Not All The Words She Spoke Were Lies

Othello kept his dark eyes fixed resolutely on hers, but their fire was a gentle one, and the faint lines about them denoted a trenchant wit tempered by a great inclination to mirth. Emilia, as she seated herself in the wooden chair, could not help but feel at ease with the general's calm, commanding presence, and relaxed her tense posture slightly, knowing him to be genuine in his inquiries, and respecting him all the more for that fact.

"I do not find it at all obtrusive, my lord," she began slowly, weighing her words carefully as she deliberated how best to voice her knowledge and concerns. "Truly, I know not what affects him this day...but for his hands, and..." Emilia trailed off then, casting the intent general a cautious glance. "He slept not well last night," she revealed, hoping that Iago had said nothing to Othello of that before his departure. "I suppose it is naught but weariness weighing on him, my lord."

O, how she hated to speak false to so venerable a man! ...But, in faith, not all the words she spoke were lies; she truly did not know what torments of mind and heart plagued Iago at present, and though she longed to find out, it would not do to leave her lady to seek him out in their chamber...if that was indeed where he had gone. And revealing any truth, even the smallest fragment, could prove too great a risk...

"Truly, my lord," she said, the concern in her voice not at all contrived, "I was hoping that he had, perhaps, confided to you what he could not relate to me..."


	67. A Surmised Assumption

"Ah. Well, I regret that I must tell you so, but he said nothing of the matter to me. Or rather…" mused Othello, remembering their earlier conversation, "...Yes, it comes to me now. He did say that he had suffered a sleepless night, but as to the cause, he said that his wife kept him unwillingly roused with scolding." He paused, studying Emilia's reaction to this statement. "Lieutenant Cassio informed me that he did not believe it. He offered me a report of his own, but it was, said he, no more than a speculation, and somewhat of a surmised assumption."

Othello paused, not looking away from Emilia for a second. Her visage did not particularly betray any thoughts. She had mentioned Iago's hands. Haply he would inquire of that later. 'Naught but weariness', she said. Perhaps that was truly all it was, and Cassio was simply over-fearful and much too concerned with others' business.

"...Do you desire to hear the lieutenant's deduction, or would you like to provide an account of your own?" He asked her solemnly. "I trust that you were with Iago last night. Was it as he says? Did you stay him awake with criticism? For your credit, Emilia, I do not hold you to be a shrew, so in that way your account may supercede your husband's."


	68. Did He Tell You So?

Emilia stared at the general agape, mortified by his words. _O, Iago, did you tell him so? Was the truth really so terrible to relate?_ The news of this new falsehood froze her to the core. Though a part of her wished to justify the words Iago had apparently spoken by thinking that he wished not to reveal last night's behavior...that he would, of all things, first think to blame _her_ for his misfortune...O, it galled her true.

"Did he tell you so?" she exclaimed, justly affronted. "I can assure, you, general, that I did nothing of the sort! How could I have, when Iago was not home for the better part of the night?"

Only after she spoke did she realize that she may have spoken in haste. After all, such an action would, with all the rest, be considered anomalous at best...and in faith, if Othello questioned her of that, what could she reply? She knew not where Iago had gone; he himself did not!

"I know not why he would speak false to you, general," she said slowly, obviously angered and doing little to hide the fact. "Nor do I know why he would have me culpable. But I _would_ be interested in hearing the lieutenant's deduction...or speculation, as it were. It surely can do me no great harm to hear it."


	69. Consequence

If Emilia was to be believed, then honest Iago had told a lie-unthinkable! However, the lady was clearly beyond indignant to hear that Iago had made her out to be the cause of his ill repose. Perhaps, Othello wondered, indignity might spawn from defensiveness? It was, if anything, just as possible as the notion of Iago misusing his wife...

"Very well," Othello answered. "You shall hear it." The ancient's wife had a fire in her eyes that was undisguised, and she looked as though she were thinking a thousand thoughts. Othello recognized that she was not only indignant-she was _hurt_. By heaven, there was import in that.

"I will relate it to you frankly and succinctly," he went on. "It is Cassio's suspicion that last night you and your husband did quarrel, and the argument having caused a choleric unbalance of the humors, he struck you-here." Othello extended a powerful hand to lay a ghost of a touch upon either side of her face, indicating the locations of the supposed blows with a gentleness that was contradictory to his strength.

But as he laid his hand barely to her countenance, he noticed that the shadows lined up with his hand...or with a hand slightly smaller and thinner than his own. It could not be. Othello's eyes hardened grimly as he withdrew his hand.

"...Well, what say you, Emilia? Does the lieutenant speak accurately? I hope you will tell me it is not so...yet, I still demand that you speak the truth. I will not tolerate such behavior in any man of mine; though others may not care how a soldier conducts himself while off duty, I am not so lenient. I expect only the highest of my men. Such a grievance as that which Cassio describes would necessitate a consequence to match, though I do hold Iago closer than a brother."


	70. Confound It All

Emilia felt faint with anxiety as Othello brought his hands to her face, with a slow gentleness that their size and strength belied. He laid his fingers to rest upon the shadows on her cheeks, an ephemeral touch, boding nothing...

She felt the blood freeze in her veins as his eyes hardened, observing with dread clarity how the marks upon her cheeks aligned themselves so rightly with his broad, calloused fingers. Narrower, longer, more attenuated, perhaps...but handprints they were, unmistakably. And he _knew_.

"...Such a grievance as that which Cassio describes would necessitate a consequence to match, though I do hold Iago closer than a brother." Othello's words seemed to pass through one ear and out the other...all but these, these last dire utterances. Their gravity hit Emilia like some comet, crashing to Earth, bringing unspeakable death and destruction in its wake...

Grieved, too grieved to speak, she pressed her eyes closed, unwilling to bear the Moor's grave expression. He was not a lenient man, Othello; he commanded in his men honesty, loyalty, courage, and _decency_ above all, be they his close friends or no. Surely Iago, held in such high esteem, would be sorely punished for his transgressions...

A part of her that retained a full measure of doubt regarding her husband's intentions and honesty of sentiment, was not much averse to the thought of his punishment, for there could be no doubt that he deserved it for all that he had done to her...

...And yet, her heart chafed at the thought; knowing what she now knew about the machinations and convoluted inner workings of Iago's mind and heart, how could she, in any good conscience, condemn him to that sorry fate? Such castigation would surely destroy him, and despite everything, she could not do that to him, knowing that she could have prevented it. Knowing that he had not, perhaps, been acting entirely of his own volition...

 _O, confound it all!_ she wanted to shout. In faith, who would believe such a strange tale? Not Othello, surely! ...But...she had to try...for Iago's sake, if not her own...

"Cassio surmised correctly," she whispered, letting her head droop with the weight of her terrible confession. "My husband and I did...quarrel last night, and...he did strike me, it is true...but I beg you, my lord, do not punish him harshly! In faith, you must believe me when I say he was not...fully aware of what he did; he was not himself...and he was grieved afterwards, my lord, horribly grieved..."

Dimly, Emilia realized that her words were doing nothing to lessen Othello's righteous anger...for the only thing worse than being a wife beater, in the Moor's mind, was being mad at the same time...but the words had been said, and could not be unsaid. She could only pray that their repercussions were not too great...


	71. Relegated

So it was true, then.Iago, honest Iago, had dared strike his wife. Iago, who indeed had proved himself many times a worthy man! Well, well. Othello's heart sank heavily, but he knew he could not let such a transgression slip. Iago would reap what he had sown. Although Othello had for so long held the man in his friendship, he would have to treat the ancient as he would any other soldier-despite Emilia's beseeching pleas.

"Grieved as he may be, lady, grief does not forgive a grievance of that kind," Othello told her sternly, holding up a hand so that the palm faced her, quelling her implorations. "I am much disappointed in him." He hesitated slightly, focusing his eyes elsewhere before settling his gaze upon Emilia again.

"Iago will be relegated. I am sorry for it, seeing as you plead for his case and I too love him well, but I have no choice but to ensure he is penalized. Undeserved cruelty is a thing I cannot abide."

This said, he stood from his seat, in order to finalize the conference and perhaps convince himself that there was no other way. He pushed his chair slowly back under the table, watching Emilia carefully as he did.

"...Perchance, Emilia, you would like to have your quarters elsewhere?" Othello asked, his tone being mitigated as he took interest in Emilia's safety rather than Iago's punishment. "It might be best, if you suspect you may be made subject to another like occurrence."


	72. A Venial Slip

_Relegated_. The word echoed soundly through Emilia's mind, setting alight a whirlwind of emotion that made her feel the slightest bit faint. Competing concerns battled for attention in her, and she was forced to close her eyes briefly, struggling to make sense of them all.

If she was to think in a purely selfish manner, Iago's demotion would prove to be a great inconvenience; an ensign did not earn so great a salary, and that of a common soldier would be even more paltry. She could recall only too well those early days of rough accommodations, coarse (unpalatable) fare, and happy sacrifice, and was loath to experience them again...

...And for Iago...O, but this would cut the man deep. He had worked so hard, so long, for his position, and had already been denied once a rightful advancement (even she, unversed in the intricacies of the art of war as she was, knew that Cassio's lack of experience suited the lieutenant's duties ill). To be disrated for so thoughtless an action, grave though it had been, would be, perhaps, the ultimate blow to his dignity.

...And yet...Emilia knew that the general was being both fair and lenient. Had he been a more cruel man, Iago's punishment would surely have been harsher...or else Emilia herself would not have been so easily believed. Truly, she was indebted to his decency.

"...Perchance, Emilia, you would like to have your quarters elsewhere?" Othello asked suddenly, making Emilia alert once more at the shift in tenor of his tone. "It might be best, if you suspect you may be made subject to another like occurrence."

That he would now suspect such a thing...it galled her, and yet, the general's fears had merit. _Would_ she be more safe in another chamber? In faith, it was not proper...but wisdom surely transcended propriety...

But was it wise? Truly, she did not think such aggression she would again see from Iago after all that had followed; she fancied them to be reconciled, if nothing else. Surely, she would be safe to remain...

"I do not think that necessary," she replied, hoping Othello would understand. "I am confident that such...violence...was but a venial slip."


	73. An Honorable Woman

Emilia had closed her eyes, seeming almost pained at Othello's decision, and the general became grave at the sight of it. He had not considered it a minute ago, but now he realized not only the effects that the verdict would have upon the ancient, but those upon the ancient's wife as well, for Iago was responsible for supporting both of them. Nevertheless, there was little that could be done. It was necessary for justice to have its course.

"If you are convinced it is so, then I will take you at your word," Othello told her gently. Looking upon Emilia, he exhaled deeply. It appeared that this discourse was beginning to tax her strength, and though he still stood towering above her, he felt compassion for the lady. Her feminine form reminded him of his own Desdemona, and he imagined that he saw his own wife in the same position, wearily looking up at him with a haggard gaze... And even now, Emilia still besought mercy for her husband in a humble display of wifely loyalty. An honorable woman, she was. She did not deserve to have to face the derivative consequences of her Iago's wrongdoing, especially as she had already been victimized by his hand.

"...I will think upon it, Emilia," he said at length. "Perhaps the punition will not be so heavy as to demand that which I have stated. I did but set down the judgment with my words and not my heart; it will be some time and some thought ere I have truly decided what course of action I will take. You seem to advocate for him very earnestly. It is apparent that you care for him deeply, Emilia, do you not?"

He asked the question in an attempt to somewhat alleviate the gravity of the situation, for he did not want to burden the lady with too much distress. Though he was firm, he was yet merciful, and it was not his desire to drown her spirits.


	74. I Can Do Little Else

Truly, the Moor was a noble man, and Emilia could see his words for what they were: attempts at consolation, true, but they imported mercy, and a desire to see her suffer as little as possible for the misdeeds of her wayward husband. She respected him the more for it, really; to know that he cared enough for her to even consider lessening Iago's sentence was consolation in itself.

"I thank you for this, my lord," she replied, dipping into a low curtsey once more. "You judge right, as I think you know; I do love my husband well. ...Too well, perhaps, that I so easily forgive him this deed, but in faith, I can do little else."

She looked up at him then, her warm gaze now challenging, even in its respectful gratitude. "You must understand why I speak thus," she said, feeling all at once extremely audacious. "Tell me, my lord, if you struck your beloved Desdemona in madness, with a part of you vehemently protesting the deed, and wept and held her in grief in the aftermath, would she not forgive _you_ , perhaps more easily than I ever would or did? Such was the case with me and my affair. Pray make of that what you will."


	75. Righteous Anger

Othello chuckled deeply and held out his hands in surrender even before she had stopped speaking. What fire there was to be had from this woman!

"Soft you, Emilia!" he boomed, a twinkle in his eye. "The sentiment is only too well understood, O devoted mistress-there is no need to persuade me of your justification! In faith, I never judged you for your willingness to forgive, though I did but judge that you are indeed a noble and virtuous woman." He smiled upon her, somewhat amused by the zeal with which she had spoken.

"And I do declare, upon my soul, that I would never lay hand upon Desdemona," he said, his expression sobering slightly. "Though I recognize that you spoke only theoretically, I would still fain assure you that such a thing is not within my compass, for I do love her, as much as you love your husband." How odd, Othello thought briefly, that Iago should suggest that Desdemona might cuckold her husband, and now Emilia would suggest that he might strike his wife. Surely such things were beyond even theoretics; did not others think so?

"But hark, I will not say that I love my wife _more_ than you love your husband," Othello continued jovially, "for I should fear your wrath if I dared to say so! You are a woman that men should take heed not to anger-but undoubtedly, your anger is righteous." He gave an acknowledging nod. "Thus, Emilia: do not think I hold you in weakness for being quick to forgive. Is that what you feared?"


	76. Open And Close

"Perhaps, my lord," Emilia admitted, chuckling ruefully as she dipped her head in self-reproof. "But I can see that I misjudged you...and I do thank you for the praise...though some would not call it such, for certain."

Othello's eyes were jovial now, and she thought that that merry twinkle suited them well, far better than the darkness of righteous anger and disbelief. His was an open countenance; she could read very thought and sentiment in the glimmer of his coal-black eyes, in the set of his thick dark brows and full-lipped mouth, in the tone of the deep, warm bass voice.

...It was nothing at all what she felt when she looked at Iago, whose pale eyes hid all emotion behind their icy sharpness, and whose thin face was adept at remaining blank, unrevealing of any earnest passion or musing. She could glean naught from him...and she had to wonder, looking at Othello now, if Iago could read her as well as she could the general. It was a discomfiting thought.

Now, in Othello's visage she could see ardent love blaze, wrought from the very mention of his Desdemona...and a part of her still envied him that passion. He was so sure of the strength of their love that he could never contemplate doing her any sort of harm...and for Desdemona's sake, she hoped that nothing in their relationship would ever change.


	77. No Ill Will

Ah, now the lady seemed to be in better spirits, for she smiled slightly and looked upon him warmly. Othello's own smile broadened, pleased to see that she was now not so forlorn. At least _that_ was certain-Othello did not look forward to the moment when he would have to confront his much-favored ancient and bestow upon him a consequence for his ill conduct…

Well, _before_ he did so, he would ask Iago to give an account of what had happened and allow him opportunity to admit to his wrongdoings. Perhaps without the company of the lieutenant, Iago might be more willing to speak true… There had seemed to be, haply, some sort of falling-out between the two men…?

Ay, Othello would interrogate the ancient, and then form his judgment. For even with the knowledge of Iago's actions, Othello did not think him a dishonest man. Emilia, too, was certainly more than willing to believe the best of him, as evidenced by her impassioned invocation. Certainly, even if Othello had doubted Iago's decency, there was proof enough for his integrity in Emilia's ardor.

"You are welcome, Emilia; the praise is deserved." Othello bowed his head respectfully toward her and crossed behind her to politely help her from her chair. "Do not worry of anything, hear? I bear you no ill will-be sure of it. Now, you are dismissed: our conference has concluded. Will you not extend my love to Desdemona for me?"


	78. Anxious Regret

"I thank you again, my lord," Emilia replied, rising from her chair and bowing her head in grateful supplication. "And of course I will extend your love to Desdemona...although," she added, smiling a bit mischievously, "I am sure she needs no such assurances of it. Good day to you, my lord."

Saying so, she turned and quitted the office, moving confidently back towards the courtyard, faltering only once when she passed her own chamber. She wondered, briefly, if Iago was within, abed...she wondered if he had made it here at all. A part of her wished to enter, to warn him of what had transpired and what he was likely to expect, but...she would not disturb him that way, not yet. It was too cruel.

With a slight sigh wrought of anxious regret, she once again began to walk, nodding to the other soldiers as she passed; they knew her well, after all. Cassio, to her surprise, was waiting at the door when she exited...had he been there this entire time, awaiting her dismissal?

"Did the conference go well, my lady?" he asked, taking her hand gallantly as he (needlessly) escorted her back to the courtyard and Desdemona.

"Well enough," she replied, somewhat guardedly; what place did Cassio have in knowing her affairs? As of now, they were strictly between her and the general. "I thank you for your concern, lieutenant, but you need not have awaited my return. I fear you have left my lady alone in the doing."


	79. Closet Lock And Key Of Villainous Secret

Cassio laughed, somewhat abashedly, and ran his free hand through his dark curls. "Not _entirely_ alone, my lady… As Desdemona and I conversed, there came upon us a certain Clown, and it was with him that I left her. Perhaps it was not the best choice of company I could have chosen for her," he admitted in sheepish afterthought, "but forgive me, mistress, I was eager to see how you fared, and we shall meet fair Desdemona soon enough."

Emilia was not entirely willing to detail her meeting with the general; that was clear by her somewhat clipped words and reserved tone. Cassio rather began to regret the asking, for certainly it had been forward of him. Though he was concerned for Emilia, her business was still none of his own. After all, did not _he_ have private business that he would prefer others stay out of? For one thing, he did not find it particularly wholesome to his merit to spread word of his affairs with Bianca, although-alas, the poor wench!-Bianca did much advertisement of her own without his permission. According to her, Cassio and she were madly in love-preposterous! Though Cassio did appreciate the fine workmanship that was Bianca, he would not go so far as to say they were _madly_ in love. She? Well, _she_ was, perhaps, but certainly not _he_.

In short, the matter of Bianca was, while he was not terribly averse to making jokes about her with the fellows, not something that Cassio was overly willing to share. Putting it in that light, Cassio recognized that Emilia's uneagerness to share with him was by no means a personal slight, and resolved not to take it as such. However, it did not mean he didn't _wonder_ what it was that was so closely guarded behind Emilia's lips, and he glanced at her frequently, hoping to glean something from her expression.


	80. Strange Conference

Emilia could feel the weight of Cassio's dark, inquisitive gaze upon her guarded countenance as they walked towards the courtyard, and she strove to think nothing of it, willing herself not to reveal to him more than was necessary for him to know. He already had played too large, too grave a role in this drama...it would not do to give the man further fodder with which to wreak havoc upon her and her husband's affairs.

...That did not, of course, mean that she wished to slight the man's concern...in faith, he was one of the most genuine men she had met; she knew it was not at all feigned. He truly was curious...but she had, she thought, impressed upon him that further prying was not welcome, and would be much obliged if he would uphold that understanding.

Even so... "Let not my reticence gall you, lieutenant," she said, in brief apology. "I mean you no offense; I am merely anxious to return to my lady after that strange conference. In faith, I shudder to think what that knave the Clown may have been telling her in your absence, to say nothing of mine."


	81. Only Slightly Slighted

As the two of them entered the spacious courtyard, it was clear that the Clown had wasted no time in pestering the gentle Desdemona, and Cassio glanced once more at Emilia, fearing that the lady judged him for his decision to leave them together. Cassio deliberately tried not to find much of his companionship with the Clown, and in these past few days had often been inclined to give him spare coins in hopes to satisfy the man (though this decision seemed to miscarry in wonderful irony, as now the Clown sought him out more than ever in hopes of further gratuity), but even so Cassio knew that the fool's humor, as was common for fools, was often much less than chaste.

To the lieutenant's relief, it appeared that the Clown was being more tasteful than was in his nature, for Desdemona smiled demurely behind white fingers as she watched him. The fool tumbled comically from the handstand he had been sustaining and then leapt up again, as if he had never fallen, with a pose of grandeur.

"And the man who will stand on his hand, is as well-put as he on his foot. But to take stead on my head, ay, _that_ I would dread, for I might crack my own crown, and fall dead!" the Clown declared proudly, as Desdemona applauded him modestly. Much to the Clown's apparent chagrin, however, she immediately gasped and quit her humble ovation upon sight of Emilia and Cassio.

"Good Emilia!" she called out, though still with her same mild manner. "And valiant Cassio," she added kindly, smiling upon the lieutenant. "How do you fare?"

"By our fair Lady and your fair hair, I daresay they fare fairly," quipped the Clown, assuming a somewhat snubbed tone. Kind, compassionate Desdemona began to turn to him, presumably to assure him he had not been forgotten, but the fool held out a hand in overdramatic dismissiveness. "Do not worry of me, lady, I am only slightly slighted," he sighed.


	82. Base, Notorious Knave

Emilia, upon sighting her lady safe, unmolested, and not much mortified by any bawdy humor on the part of the Clown (or so she hoped), hid a smile behind her hand, even as she fixed that disconsolate knave with a reproachful look.

"Truly, sirrah, you seem omnipresent this day," she told him dryly. "From whence did you come now? I hope your quillets have taken my earlier threats to heart and lessened their lewd touch in the presence of my lady's modesty."

"Good madam, you need fear nothing of the sort!" the Clown exclaimed, crossing his arms petulantly, long fingers tapping out a frenetic beat on the sleeve of his striped jerkin. "Not so slight is my slight now; fie on you! I say, is everyone out to vex me this day, but for the gentle mistress Desdemona?"

"All that vexes you this day, my good man, is that you have not yet been paid for your pains," Cassio replied, his tone one of an adult struggling to keep patience with a troublesome child. "Here, take these two crowns, and leave us be. Dost thou hear, mine honest friend?"

"I hear not your honest friend, I hear you," the Clown riposted, taking the proffered coins with a mischievous smirk. "And as such, I can say with _absolute_ certainty that you, good lieutenant, must be quite fond of my jests, for you to so fondly call me friend and pay me more kindly than that!" And with that, he was gone, exiting the courtyard with a jaunty, off-key whistle and a spring in his step.

Cassio sighed heavily, running his elegant hands through his dark curls with a rueful laugh. "Lady Desdemona, Lady Emilia, I feel I must apologize for the conduct of that knave. I hope, Desdemona, he did not cause you offense?"


	83. Need Not Know

Desdemona gave a dimpled smile, inclining her head slightly. "Not tremendously," she answered. "Gladly, he had the good grace to behave himself in my presence. But I thank you for your concern." She nodded once more at Cassio, to assure him of her well-being, and turned to Emilia.

Her bright gaze cautiously met with her friend's, betraying her curiosity; her slightly raised eyebrows imported her desire to know why Emilia had been summoned. However, she did not voice this fascination, most likely out of propriety and respect for Emilia's privacy, though she did seem to find it necessary to bite upon her nether lip as if to prevent herself from speaking.

"...How is my lord?" she asked finally, relieved to have something to say. She breathed a gracious sigh and straightened a lock of her flaxen hair. She hoped that this innocent question might give Emilia invitation to explain the summoning. After all, she loved both Othello and Emilia-if there was anything amiss, surely she would be able to be of some help? But still, perhaps it was none of her concern, regardless of her affection for each. _Selfish girl_ , Desdemona chided herself mildly. _If you need not know, you need not know_.


	84. Further Questions

"Your lord is very well, lady," Emilia replied, giving Desdemona a reassuring smile, knowing that the girl would be chastising her own curiosity...a shame, really, that she always regretted inquisition thus. "Though, if I may be so bold, I daresay he misses you greatly, as is his wont."

A pensive look still cast a shadow over Desdemona's fair features, and Emilia gracefully moved to her, taking her young mistress's fair hand with a knowing look.

"But come!" she said softly. "I do sense further questions lurking within your mind; your look imports it. Will you not reveal them to me? In faith, I am more than happy to take you into my confidence if I am able."


	85. Invisible Tension

Taking Emilia's hand as a sign of support, Desdemona exhaled gratefully. "Forgive me, Emilia. I was simply wondering as to the nature of your summons, as you and my lord are both terribly important to me, and, unhandsome warrior as I am, I feared that perhaps something might be wrong. However, I am sure it is not so. Once more, kind Emilia, do forgive me; I was not sure if I might be thought meddlesome if I asked. Even now, I am not entirely certain."

As she voiced the confession, Cassio seemed to draw ever so slightly nearer. Clearly he was just as curious as she was to hear how Emilia would answer, but Desdemona had a premonition that perhaps Emilia did not care for the lieutenant to partake in this conversation. The suspicion was enforced by Emilia's apparent pretense that Cassio was simply not there; there appeared to be some kind of invisible tension between them.

"I beg pardon, friend Cassio, but haply you might leave us be for but a little?" Desdemona asked the lieutenant with a warm poise."Dear Emilia thanks you for coming to fetch her, as do I for your brief conversation, and both Emilia and I look forward to being in your company at another time." She smiled kindly and extended her hand toward him.


	86. Once More Unto The Bush

Cassio eyed Desdemona's extended white hand ruefully, and sighed as he took it and held it delicately to his lips. Well versed in social graces as he was, he knew a dismissal when he heard it...and when such a dismissal came from one so fair as his lady, he would do well to heed it.

"Of course, madam," he replied, doffing his cap to the women as he retreated a pace or two. "Relieved I am that you bear no ill will towards me for my remaining here and, perhaps, interrupting your discourse. Forgive me that. I should be glad to share your company some other time."

With those words still fresh upon his tongue, he kissed both ladies' hands one last time, before turning and walking away...but he did not leave the courtyard. Feeling rather like a troublesome schoolboy, he remained behind a bush some distance away, hoping to hear what exactly it was that Emilia would reveal to Desdemona.


	87. Assurance That All Was Well

After Desdemona was certain that the lieutenant had departed, she turned back to Emilia, patting the place on the bench beside her as invitation for the older woman to sit and tilting her head with a lovingness that nearly necessitated the sentiment's requitement. "There you go," she said fondly, leaning toward Emilia with some measure of womanish conspiracy. "It seemed to me that whatever you had to say was not for so many pairs of ears, though I do love Cassio as if he were a brother."

She did not ask Emilia anything directly, for she still did not want to be thought intrusive, and instead waited patiently for Emilia to speak as she saw fit. Had it not been, haply, a _little_ strange that Emilia should be called for a conference so private that Desdemona had not been allowed to accompany her? Not that Desdemona felt overlooked or was distrustful-truly, all she wanted was assurance that all was well.


	88. Uneasy Truth

"Indeed; young Cassio is an easy man to love," Emilia replied, making sport of her lady's mischievous look but slightly, a merry twinkle in her eye. "And, I pray you, how could you be certain I had anything to say at all?"

Still, the gravity of her lady's inquiry was not lost on her. Desdemona was curious, she knew...and concerned , perhaps. At the very least, she wondered why her friend had been summoned to a conference with her lord, a conference to which she was not privy. Though it galled not her patience (in faith, Desdemona's heart was too gentle for any such poisonous sentiment as that), Emilia knew that her young mistress possessed at this moment a burning desire to know the truth...a truth that Emilia was not so certain she could relate.


	89. Pry No More

How _could_ she have been certain that Emilia had anything to say? Oh, dear. Desdemona's cheeks pinkened slightly, even as she recognized that the ancient's wife teased her in her humble avoidance of the prompting. Though Emilia spoke in good spirits, the deflection discouraged Desdemona completely from prodding further. Meddlesome, indeed! Curiosity and propriety were not close friends.

"Do forgive me, Emilia," she sighed, placing a hand to one flushed cheek. "I thought that you might share with me the reason why my lord did seek you. But I assure you, it is not a necessity-and most likely, not my place-for me to know." She inclined her head as if offering a bow of repentance. "'Twas out of my own self-indulgence that I wondered. I shall pry no more."


	90. How Satisfied?

Emilia, upon hearing Desdemona's urgent plea of forgiveness and biting self-reproof, bit her nether lip with a heavy sigh. Truly, it was not her wish to upset her lady by withholding the truth from her...nor was it her wish to inflame the young lady's tendencies to chastise herself for any expression of what she thought was _meddlesome_ curiosity. Asking questions was not a sin...even if the answers were nearer to that than any might have hoped.

"Do not berate yourself for prying, for prying it truly was not," she told the girl firmly, taking the white hand that rested on the soft cheek and grasping it gently. O, how she hated to lie...but this...no, this was not a lie. Rather, it was...a half-truth. Best to spare Desdemona the more sordid details of the discourse. "Your lord summoned me for conference only to ask me of my husband. He dismissed Iago to our chamber earlier, as he said, and wished to know if all was well with him. That is all."

Of course, that was not the half of it...and should Desdemona hear of Iago's imminent demotion, she would surely become suspicious. But this was all Emilia could say; if her young mistress made further inquiry, she would perhaps be obliged to respond...but she hoped the girl would be satisfied with this.


	91. So Frightening A Perversion

Othello had wanted to ask if Iago was well… If that was certainly all, then why had Emilia hesitated so before speaking? Her reluctance was disproportionate to the severity of the information, was it not? Did Emilia speak true…?

Desdemona dismissed the doubt from her mind. Of _course_ Emilia spoke true; she was as honest as her husband was famed to be. Most likely, she had simply not wanted to allude to the fact that her husband might not be well… Desdemona was quickly reminded of the wilted flowers that still lay, withering, on the low wall beside her, but she willed herself not to look toward them, lest she unknowingly distress Emilia.

Now Desdemona felt concern for Iago; though she did not know him very well personally, he was Emilia's husband and Othello's best friend, and therefore he was just as important to her as anyone else was. It seemed that his appearance here had followed his dismissal from the Citadel. If he had acted similarly there as he had done here, it was no wonder that Othello had sought out Emilia for an explanation.

She began to open her mouth, intending to ask the same that Othello had concerning Iago's welfare, but she quickly checked herself, deciding that it might not be most prudent given Emilia's initial hesitancy to speak and then her nebulousness in the doing. She thought of the moment when she had seen Iago kiss his wife with as much fervor as if he was attacking her, and how Emilia had reacted in kind-Desdemona still could not shake her mild horror that such a loving action had been turned into so frightening a perversion.

Desdemona cleared her throat delicately, turning once more to Emilia. "If that is all, then I have no need to ask anything more," she said kindly. "I am glad the matter was not so severe as I might have feared. Shall we walk, Emilia?"


	92. Hasty Words

Emilia could see thoughts flitting through Desdemona's eyes like many moths, making the crystalline orbs flash and dilate in their changeful rumination. There was disbelief there, and abrupt dismissal and acceptance, nervous understanding, and concern, banished by a sort of forced merriment that fooled Emilia for not one second.

Disbelief, she thought, was, if neither reassuring nor welcome, at least expected. No doubt Desdemona realized that Emilia's hesitation and ambiguity were not quite proportionate to the reason for council that she had offered...in faith, her doubts were too true, and Emilia nearly feared what her lady would say if she discovered the truth.

She felt guilty for it, but she could not help but be insurmountably grateful when Desdemona once again berated her questioning of Emilia's word and accepted her statement as truth. Truth it most certainly was not, but O, she feared...better the girl asked few questions.

 _O, perish the thought_! she chastised herself, sharply and reproachfully. Heaven's sake, she sounded like Iago, wishing for the girl to question nothing and keep her silence. And Desdemona was so kind, so gentle- she even expressed (unvoiced) concern now, which she was sure was for Iago's questionable well-being. She did not deserve such treatment, especially not from her own true servant and friend! The very idea was despicable!

"If that is all, then I have no need to ask anything more," Desdemona said kindly startling Emilia from her reverie. "I am glad the matter was not so severe as I might have feared. Shall we walk, Emilia?"

"We shall," she replied, feeling a bit faint from combined guilt and relief. "But I pray you, what was it you feared? Did you truly think our council was so grave?" Hasty words...but she needed to know.


	93. It Dampens Our Pleasurable Mood

"Well, not _truly_ grave," Desdemona admitted with a shy laugh as she rose from her seat. "Rather, I did not _think_ it was grave, I merely _feared_ that it might be grave. But it was silly of me to think so, was it not?" She skirted the question as Emilia had skirted hers, for in faith, Desdemona had no answer. She knew not what it was she had feared, simply knew that she had done; she knew that she had been wary and was yet, she knew not why for either account. Indeed, was not Desdemona's wariness still lingering? She thought she feared for her friend, and yet, _still_ knew not why she did so…

"Let us no more of this," Desdemona pleaded gently, clasping Emilia's hand. "It dampens our pleasurable mood."


End file.
